


54

by candypinksocks



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: M/M, mentions of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 05:18:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/390192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candypinksocks/pseuds/candypinksocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What might have landed on the cutting room floor. And then some...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eighteen Times

It's a no brainer.

No, really it is. He's getting paid to work with one of his best friends, not to mention a whole bunch of people he'd do for free and he gets to be married to Salma Hayek; all on something that could be really fucking awesome.

Definite no brainer.

There's been rehearsals and run throughs and lightsaber fights with the bread sticks from craft services. Late drinks and early mornings and it all just fits. It's not Shakespeare and it's not a million dollar summer blockbuster, the body glitter gets in places he's not sure he wants to think about and the nut huggers get him offers of the kind of action he's not even thought about in years. But it's not like Ryan's not in the same, well, shorts. It's fun and it's telling a story he'd want to see. So if he's smiling more than a little then who's going to call him on it when everyone else, from Producer to PA is doing the same damn thing?

They don't rehearse the kiss. On the pages it's hard; Shane backed up against the wall, Greg's fists in his shirt and his knee jammed between his thighs. It's Greg marking Shane, it's too much coke and a fifth of Jack. It's 'she's _mine_ you sonofabitch, back the fuck off'. They over think it and it's gonna look just what it's not supposed to.

Well that's the plan anyway.

Takes one through five, Breckin laughs before Ryan even gets close enough, Ryan fucks up his blocking and Salma makes porn music noises from her place on the couch. The crew wolf whistle just as Breckin grabs Ryan and pushes him against the wall and when they finally get to the kissing part Ryan ends up licking Breckin's face, wet and sloppy and biting the end of his nose.

Take six is okay, 'til Ryan belches burrito breath in Breckin's face just as he's going for the 'one hand in the hair, the other tilting his chin up' thing.

They take a breather after that, chew some gum and try not to look at each other.

One or the other of them fucks up the next few go arounds and Breckin can tell Mark is getting pissed off; the non essential crew sent for break, the way he's leaning almost out his chair when they go for it again. Like he's just waiting for them to corpse.

Take nine looks good on camera, feels right too, 'til the lighting guy's rig explodes in a hail of sparks. Ryan's biting his lip when Breckin pulls back. He tells himself it's nothing and that he's not doing the same thing.

They get coverage on ten through fourteen. The back of Breckin's head, the side of Ryan's, hands in shirts and fisted in hair. Always stopping just short with a grin that's feeling more strained with every cut called.

They could take a time out, they've been at this for coming up on four hours now but they don't. Agreeing with a look to get it done, move on to the next set up.

It's just a kiss after all.

Except now he's thinking about it. He didn't want to, it's not like he hasn't done this a thousand times before. Not like he hasn't got it done in a couple takes plus coverage, onto the next with barely a thought past how his breath was and what Crafty had on for lunch later. But now it's sitting there like a weight in the pit of his gut. And it's not the bad weight either.

Well, shit.

He's the other side of the prop door, fist tight around the handle as he waits for his cue. Eyes closed, he can see how it's supposed to go: Anita and Shane too close on the couch, mirror smudged with what's left of a couple of lines, a cigarette and low soft laughter traded between them.

He opens them again to stare at the stud wall next to the door, biting his lip hard enough to make his eyes water as the PA taps his shoulder for him to go through.

The door hits the wall, there's a dent there now and Breckin's eyes fall on it for a second and he's over thinking everything again, this one's gonna be a bust just like the others before it. He's stepping back, hands up to call 'my bad' when Ryan's right there in his face, eyes sharp on his, his voice little more than a ground out whisper.

"Run with it okay?"

And then Greg's the one getting pushed back, his head hitting the door frame as Shane's crowding up against him, mouth too close to be anything other than a promise and Breckin _breathes_ for real, for the first time today and lets it go.

Greg catches Anita's eye over Shane's shoulder, sees her nod and shift to lean over the back of the couch, her hands folded under her chin. And fucking Shane is fucking smiling and Greg feels like he's walked in halfway through something he's got no chance of playing catch up on.

The both of them take a second, it's a blink of an eye really and Breckin can see the challenge right there in Ryan's face. _I dare you_. Like he fucking _knows_.Yeah, he's a son of a bitch. He knows Breckin hasn't, in all the time they've known each other, ever been able to back down from that.

This would be one of their more stupid dare/challenge/pissing contests. Right up there with the time Ryan got Breckin to shave half his body, eyebrows to ankles before turning up for an audition for a one shot on a show he didn't really want anyway. Or when Breckin printed flyers for 'An Evening with Ryan Phillippe reading erotic fiction' at Hustler and spent three days fly posting on Santa Monica.

It's not Greg that pushes back. It's not Shane he's pushing, fingers tight enough to bruise on Ryan's shoulders as he spins him round. 

They're off script and no one's calling cut and the smile he gives back is for no one but Ryan and Ryan gets it, the tiny nod of his head for Breckin alone. Smiles back as he slides down the wall a little, his hands catching on Breckin's hips, thumbs dipping under the waistband of his jeans to brush over his skin as he drags him closer. He can see it when Ryan swallows, feels the breath he puffs out on his skin, can't seem to drag his eyes away from the slick of Ryan's tongue across his lips.

His hands on Ryan's hips now, his chin tipped up as he takes that last step, pushes his thigh between Ryan's and presses up. He should probably take a moment, weigh up whether this is one of their better ideas, see if he can, if he can - 

"Aw, fuck it..."

He's smiling with the first press, a little breathless with the second, his eyes slipping closed as his hands drop kind of useless to his sides before they get with the program, grab hold of Ryan's belt loops and tug hard.

Ryan grunts something that sounds like _fucker_ before he's doing some tugging of his own, his hands on Breckin's ass as he grinds down on Breckin's thigh. "Quit fucking around already." Bitten into Breckin's lip without so much as a breath before it.

"Oh, it's on -"

He bites at Ryan's lip, his tongue soft on the swell of it to ease the sting, wanting in and it's like nothing else when he's met halfway. It's just a glance, barely there and kind of perfect and he can't help but drag his teeth over Ryan's lip as he pulls back.

He, _they_ should stop this now, it's another take fucked up, his brain is slowly heading places it should not be heading when he's in a room full of people and he's kissing his -

It takes him a second to realize he's being pushed back again, he tries for an indignant "Hey!" but it comes out more like "Yeah, okay." And then his ass is hitting the back of the couch and he's got Ryan all up in his face again.

"I said, quit fucking around already." And the tiny part left of him that thought maybe they should stop this now gets squashed under want so damn thick it makes his fucking hair hurt.

"Jesus-" 

Swallows a dry click, watches Ryan's eyes track down to see and it's a too quick heartbeat before he's got his hands in Ryan's hair and his mouth on Ryan's jaw.  
He's biting down before he can think too long on it, sucking a mark right there when Ryan's hands get up under his shirt, his fingers skating over his belly, higher still. And there's no way Breckin can keep that noise he makes in, it's too much to ask him not to buck forward, yank on Ryan's hair 'til his fingers ache.

And Ryan fucking _growls_ at that, gets his hands on Breckin's thighs, gets them wrapped round his waist, Breckin's ass high enough up on the back of the couch and oh okay, that's -

He's still dimly aware Salma's on the couch, that there's a room full of people getting a live porn show. He just can't seem to bring himself to care. He's got Ryan's shirt pushed up under his armpits and his mouth on Ryan's chest and it's sweat and make up and really really good.

"Get this off." The shirt's too tight and the cuffs catch on Ryan's wrists, the buttons popping off to skitter across the floor. He looks up then, gets a little lost as Ryan wets his lips again and it's like he... no he _does_ know, just what it's gonna take. He's screwed six ways from Sunday whichever way you look at it, so he just winks and grins again, rears up before he can over think it, smashes his lips to Ryan's, forces his tongue in like he's fucking and oh yeah, it's _on_.

He hooks his feet together at the ankles, heels resting in the small of Ryan's back as he pushes deeper, slicks along the back of Ryan's teeth, the roof of his mouth, hands dropping to scratch at Ryan's back, leave what he knows will be red welts down his spine. And he's getting as good as he's giving, Ryan's hand splayed across his chest, sharp sting of nails over one nipple then the other and he'd be trying to catch a breath if he could just pull away for a second. Like that's ever gonna happen.

His hands land on Ryan's ass, fingers digging deep as he yanks him closer, huffs out a grunt as they get all lined up just right, damn 70's jeans nigh on castrating the both of them and he's reaching for Ryan's zipper without a second thought.

"Cut! And print that!"


	2. Cut! And Print That!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After, in the trailer...

It's Ryan who pulls back first, slow, not like he's any rush, that stupid smug grin on his face as he thumbs his bottom lip. Breckin coughs, doesn't dare to look behind him as he unhooks his ankles, lets his feet drop to the floor with a thud. And you could hear in pin drop right now.

Out the corner of his eye he sees Salma pull herself up off the couch, swing her legs round to sit next to him, her shoulder nudging against his, her hand reaching for Ryan's wrist. 

"Holy shit."

Breckin thinks that just about covers it.

Before things can get awkward, _more awkward_ Mark calls for a break and Breckin thinks Mark's timing is awesome.

"We should – " He tips his head toward the door as he jumps off the back of the couch and skirts round Salma, absolutely does not look at Ryan. He doesn't look back, doesn't turn round when Ryan calls after him, just walks. 

He's in his trailer, door closed and locked behind him before he can breathe properly again, low sick feeling in his gut, sure that he – they, just fucked up everything good about them. Stepped over several lines and stamped on a few more. Doesn't matter that it was part of the gig, that Ryan fucking dared him to take it just that little bit too far. He's pretty sure they're several states and then some away from 'a bit too far'.

"Dumb ass." 

Of course, Ryan has a key to his trailer. And of course, collective amnesia was too much to wish for.

"Huh?" 

"I said, you're a dumb ass."

"Okay?" He's not sure he disagrees, but really they should be sharing the dumb ass, it's only fair after all. "But you – we – " His hand waving between them like _that's_ gonna fill in what his brain can't or more likely, won't come up with. 

"That's not what I meant." Ryan's closer now; hands held out to his sides, palms up, like he's safe and harmless, yet he's still got that look on his face and he's blocking the doorway like he's waiting for Breckin to bolt. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't at least thinking about it.

"Not a dumb ass? Or not that kind of dumb ass – wait, what?" 

"You're thinking." Another step inside, still slow and Breckin's pulse kicks up a notch. Huh, well that's different.

Breckin takes an answering step back, stopped short when his ass hits the wall next to his bathroom. And he can't help the feeling that there's some scene he's meant to be playing, except they forgot to give him the script.

"What're you – " And then it's like they're back on the sound stage and Ryan's all up in his face again with that stupid dare and that stupid grin Breckin's never be able to resist. 

"Stop thinking."

And Ryan kisses him.

It's like he gets all the wind knocked out of him in one go, or he just got pushed off a high rise and the ground is rushing up at him. It's like nothing ever before and he's powerless to do anything but go with it.

It's not a dare, it's not improv off a script and it's not in a room full of people, lights and cameras.

Ryan's kissing him.

He's laughing before he can hold it back, hands fast on Ryan's hips, teeth sharp in Ryan's lip, sucking hard as he pulls back, his head hitting the wall behind him with a _thunk_.

"Fuck." He's looking at Ryan for real now, for the first time since – well, since it he thought it was all going to shit back there and yeah, he's still got that grin going on, head tipped to one side, looking right back at Breckin like he knew this was gonna happen and it's annoying as shit and just one of the things he loves about this guy. But there's something else there too, now he's really looking.

He takes another look, scrunches his face up, head tipped one side and then the other. 

"Really?"

"Really." Ryan's nodding, chewing on his bottom lip in a way Breckin's already decided is his new favourite thing. He'll unpack that and look at it later. Along with his sudden need to get somewhere really comfy and also very naked. Today is definitely a day for the new and unexpected and a day to just go with it.

It's his turn to kiss Ryan now. Hands up to cup his face, fingers spanning his jaw to find they fit just right. It's slow and soft and nothing like before and Breckin's finding he likes it just fine.

Right now he's having trouble finding anything about this whole thing he doesn't like. From the way Ryan's pressed all up close, how his thigh's jammed between Breckin's, hips rolling forward when Breckin gets himself a handful of hair, to how they just _fit_. It's kinda weird how he never thought about it before and now it's the only thing he _can_ think about.

Ryan got his hands on Breckin's ass now, fingers digging in hard through his jeans and they're both more than a little breathless, and Breckin's jeans are trying to cut his dick off. Again.

How the hell anyone went through the '70’s with their junk intact is a miracle.

It takes everything he's got in him to push Ryan back, but not before he's gotten another bite at his lip, and that's going to be a thing with him, he can tell. He's not letting go, just getting a little space between them, hardly anything at all really. Ryan looks as much of a mess as Breckin feels, cheeks flushed and eyes blown – debauched and if he looks like that after kissing, what the fuck is he gonna look like after – . Breckin really wants to see what Ryan looks like after.

"Hey, you wanna?" Breckin's eyes flick over Ryan's shoulders to the bedroom door as he shrugs, he's sure it's what he wants, Ryan too if just now's anything to go by, but there's still – he still has to _know_.

Ryan's answer's pretty clear as he reaches for the waistband of Breckin's jeans, fingers in the belt loops and pulls him away from the wall.

"Dumb ass. Seriously, come _on_." There's that smile again, cocky son of a bitch. Ryan's always been able to read him, always known which buttons and where they are, unfair and also, now he thinks about it, awesome.

He pokes Ryan in the gut, maybe a little harder than just playful, cuffs the back of his head, sweeps his leg at Ryan's ankles too while he's at it. That gets him on his ass on the floor, Ryan's nails sharp on his scalp, his knee hard enough on Breckin's chest to knock the wind out of him.

"That was weak, man." And before Breckin can call foul, Ryan's covering him, chest to hips, got Breckin's arms up over his head and his thighs pushed wide.

"You know," Ryan's voice is almost casual, like they're grabbing a beer after work, not like he's got his dick lined up all perfect against Breckin's, the slow grind driving him just a little bit crazy. "I was thinking about signage, something in neon maybe." Breckin's going very slowly nuts, might crack any second now if Ryan doesn't fucking _move_. "You have no idea."

He really doesn't.

"I don't, what're you –" And if Ryan's not gonna move then he sure as hell it is. Oh God, that's too good. "Fuck – come on man, I – " He tests the hold Ryan's got on his wrists; there's no give and he doesn't want any.

Ryan leans down to kiss him again, quick and hard, his hips rolling down just as he pulls back and yup, definitely going crazy.

"I want you." And there it is, clear and plain and simple and Breckin almost wouldn't believe it if he wasn't on his back on the linoneum right now. "That back there? Asshole move right? Should've waited." Ryan shifts just right, just _there_ and it takes less than a breath for Breckin to get his legs wrapped round Ryan's hips, to get some of his own back.

"I think we're done waiting. Are we done waiting?"

Ryan really needs to stop talking now.

Breckin tips his chin up, shoulders straining as he lifts his head.

"Will you shut the fuck up and just do me already?" And the look on Ryan's face right then makes him laugh, kick Ryan's ass with the heel of his foot. "Get your heavy ass off me. We are not doing this on the floor." He kicks again, just cause he can, before he lets his legs fall wide again, looking up at Ryan with a look on his face that he can only describe as _'Well?'_.

He gets a smack on the side of the head for that, Ryan's fingers burying themselves in his hair before he lets go the other wrist and rocks back onto his heels. A spike of want hits Breckin just as hard as the one before and with it he's up and grabbing at Ryan's shirt to pull them both up to standing.

"Move." 

It's more stumbling than walking really; Breckin's coordination's shot to shit when he's horny and right now horny's a huge understatement. They knock teeth a couple times, Ryan bangs his knee on the coffee table and then there's the door jam no one expected; stumbling and kissing and trying to get out of the nut–killing jeans proving too much all at once.

That awkward 'oh shit what're we even doing?' moment hits just inside the bedroom door. Breckin's got his hands halfway into Ryan's jeans and Ryan's sucking what'll be an impressive hickey just behind Breckin's ear and they just _stop_.

"Really?" Like he still can't quite believe it, even though his jeans are hanging off his hips and his lips are almost numb.

"Really."

To be fair, it's not what anyone would call a long, well thought out 'oh shit' moment.

Ryan's pushing at Breckin just as Breckin's pulling Ryan further into the room. That'll be the thinking over with then. The back of Breckin's knees hit the edge of the bed and he's laughing as his back hits the mattress even as it knocks the breath out of him. And he's got Ryan crawling up between his thighs, pure sin written all over his face as he pulls off Breckin's underwear, jeans and socks in a move he'd be jealous of any other time, and he really is the biggest dumb ass if he never saw this before.

He buries his hands in Ryan's hair to tug him up closer, impatient and breathing hard, might even be shaking a little too if he's honest with himself. He gets a sharp nip of teeth on his hip for that, fingers pressed hard to the insides of his thighs, thumbs digging in the flesh of his ass and when Ryan pulls back just enough to look up, he's shaking his head.

"Uh uh, made me wait, so – " And ain't it typical that he's making a show of pulling his shirt up over his head and peeling off his jeans.

Son of a bitch.

Ryan leans back down to lick a wet stripe hip to hip and Breckin makes a noise he'd be ashamed of if he even cared a little bit. He can't help the way his hips tilt up, the way his fingers tug and pull on Ryan's hair, or how his thighs are falling wide, his feet up on the small of Ryan's back.

"Hate you – come _on_ " He knows it's no good, Ryan's stubborn when he wants to be, okay, all the damn time and now doesn't look like it's going to be any different. He has a feeling this is going to be frustrating and really fucking awesome.

Ryan huffs a laugh just over his dick, flicks his eyes up as he leans down and holy fucking shit.

Breckin's hips shoot up, only to get jammed down again by Ryan's forearm, his breath hot on the head of Breckin's dick before he goes down again, his mouth too hot and too tight and if he thought he was going crazy before, that's got nothing on this. He can feel it right to the ends of his damn hair, every part of him a second from losing it and this is good, Jesus fucking Christ, it's good, but it's not the end game and he at least wants to make it to the end game.

"Ry – you gotta – " Pulling at Ryan's hair's not working. Grinding his heels into the small of Ryan's back's not either. And he's trying so hard not to be 16 in the back of his Dad's Pinto with Rachael the Pastor's daughter on Fairview Ridge all over again, but picturing Einstein (okay so he was a geek) just isn't cutting it.

Ryan's like some kind of god of blow jobs, seriously, cause he's doing things with his tongue right now that're making Breckin's toes curl. 

He does the only thing a man can do in a situation like this. He lets go Ryan's hair and smacks him on the back of the head. Except now Ryan's stopped and he's pulling back and that's what he wanted, but, well not really.

"Stop, slow down, something man, cause I'm – don't wanna, not yet. Okay?"  
Ryan shifts back a little, eyes on Breckin the whole time, his hands restless on Breckin's skin. And just that much is too good, he's too far gone to feel anything but Ryan. And that there says something now doesn't it?

"Get up here." He's pulling at Ryan before he can think any more on it, hands on his shoulders, fingernails sharp on his skin. Just 'cause he needs to slow down a little doesn't mean he wants to stop. 

He gets his mouth on the side of Ryan's head in a wet smear of a kiss, sets his teeth to the edge of his jaw, runs his tongue over Ryan's pulse to bite where it's beating hot and fast on the side of his neck. And then he's pushing up with one foot and rolling them over, catching a breath when Ryan's thighs fall wide and everything lines up just right.

"You could've just said, _'Hey Ry, get on your back'_." Ryan's voice is a little shaky and there's a blush creeping up from his chest that Breckin wants to get his mouth on. To be fair he wants to get his mouth on as much of Ryan as they have time for right now and much more later.

Breckin rolls his hips down slow as he can manage, grunts out a moan when Ryan grabs his ass and rocks up to meet him, wraps his legs round the back of Breckin's thighs. He shouldn't be surprised at how well they fit, how good this feels when everything else about them has been easy as breathing, but it's still kind of is. And at some point during this whole – whatever it is, he'll stop grinning his ass off and actually spare a thought to how it's gone from that to this without so much as a blink. 

"Kinda like you on your back –" 

Ryan's heels hits his ass then, his fingers pinching just below Breckin's ribs and he's squirming with it, trying to pinch back, biting the skin he can get to and letting all his weight fall on Ryan.

"Hold still, fucker." As he presses his knees to the insides of Ryan's thighs, gets his hands on Ryan's arms and leans down harder. "Just – let me –" He's not sure what, and it's been more time than he cares to remember since –.

"Just let me."

That edge he was skating just now's still there, just a little duller and that's all good if he wants this to go where he's thinking it's going.

He lets his hands slide down to Ryan's elbows, pushes them up over Ryan's head, his lips just a breath away from kissing him and he wants to, but he wants to see more. That 'need to know' part of him fighting with the 'want to have'.  
He pushes himself back, elbows locked as he looks down at Ryan, hair falling in his face, just what he wants written there all over it. And he should just quit stalling already.

"Dude, stop thinking. It's good, _we're_ good." And Ryan should quit reading his damn mind too while they're at it.

He lets go; of Ryan's arms, of everything that's been holding him back too and just goes with it. They've always been good at that, there's no reason why now should be any different. It's him and Ryan, plain and simple.

The churning doubt in the pit of his gut dissolves as soon as he kisses Ryan, want and need in its place and he's back to being impatient, not willing to wait any longer. They can take their time next time. It doesn't even occur to him that there might not be a next time, as sure of that as anything.

He's just as sure as he shifts his ass back, knees spread wide to push at Ryan's thighs cause he's all for a little reciprocity and the idea of getting Ryan's dick in his mouth is making his head spin. He bites his way down Ryan's chest, across his belly, ribs to hip, takes his time sucking a mark right there until Ryan's cussing him out and yanking on his hair. And he hasn't even really gotten started yet.

He fits his hands to Ryan's hips, an unspoken 'hold still' as he looks up to catch Ryan's eye, the almost shy nod he gets in reply making his pulse spike, his breath catch. They're really doing this.

He unfolds his knees, gets himself flat on his belly, his hands slipping to the insides of Ryan's thighs, thumbs brushing over the impossibly soft skin there before he presses up just behind Ryan's balls. He kinda loves the way that makes Ryan's hips jerk and his hand twitch in Breckin's hair, and he wastes no more time, closes his eyes as he opens his mouth to drag his tongue in a slow path up Ryan's dick.

"Oh God –" As he closes his lips over the head, flicks his tongue and sucks. Ryan's got Breckin's hair all twisted up in his fingers now and it's just this side of too much, but he can tell it's going to be a thing. Seems like there's going to be more than a few of those.

He forgets to breathe as he sinks lower, doesn't care that he can't when his nose bumps Ryan's belly and his throat's jammed full, he just takes a moment to _feel_ , 'til his lungs burn and his head feels light and he absolutely has to pull back. He doesn't go far; just enough to suck in a breath through his nose and swallow the thick pulse that hits the back of his tongue. And then he's taking all of Ryan in again in one long, slow slide and holy shit, why the hell haven't they been doing this all along?

Ryan's hips are jerking up in little thrusts, the palm of one hand on the back of Breckin's head pushing him down and Breckin's absolutely on the same page. He squeezes his fingers, double taps his thumb where it's stroking behind Ryan's balls and relaxes his jaw.

"Fuck – fuck –" And Ryan's in no more control than Breckin was before as he just lets go, hips snapping up hard and fast as Breckin's tongue rides the pulse in Ryan's dick, lips numb from the catch and drag. He knows it's not gonna be long and selfish as he sometimes is, he doesn't want to stop, wants Ryan to lose it right there in his mouth. He's not beyond playing dirty to get it.

He's pushing two fingers into his mouth alongside Ryan's dick before he's even paid it a second thought, his lips tight around the both of them as he pulls back to catch a breath, fingers free again as he sinks back down. The tight hold Ryan's got on his hair tips over into painful when Breckin's fingers paint a wet trail over Ryan's balls and right back and it's nothing for him to press and tease as he closes his mouth tight around Ryan's dick; push inside just as he sucks back and that's all she wrote.

Ryan's yanking him off before he's even done and Breckin would complain about getting hit in the face if Ryan lying there looking completely fucked out, palming his own dick wasn't so damned perfect. Doesn't mean he's gonna stop himself from leaning down to rub the mess on his face off on Ryan's belly, or rear up to plant a sloppy wet one right on Ryan's mouth. What he's not expecting is Ryan grabbing his head and kissing him right back, tongue sucking the taste of himself right out of Breckin's mouth.

Breckin's on his back again with Ryan's hand on his dick before he can even think about how fucking hot that was.

"Do you even – " And fuck, Ryan's voice is shot raw, breath coming in shallow pants and Breckin's maybe just a tiny bit addicted to that already. Just like Ryan's hand on him, that tug and twist thing he's got going on, the way he's got his face buried in Breckin's neck. A guy could get used to that real quick.  
It takes him a second to realize Ryan's not kissing his neck anymore and is looking at him, _really_ looking at him. His hand's still moving, just slow enough to be close to torture and Breckin shifts a little uncomfortably under that look.

"What?" 

Ryan licks his lips and drops his eyes down to Breckin's chin, and every bad thing that might've gone wrong about this and them crowds in Breckin's head to be heard. Well shit. Of course, Ryan sees just what's going on as soon as he looks up. There's a reason he doesn't play poker when Ryan's at the table.

"How did you get to be so fucking stupid? Stop _thinking_ okay?"

He's not sure why he's nodding yes quite so quick as he is. "So what's with the –" He does his best impression of Ryan's serious 'looking right into your soul' look and that at least gets him a snort and a knee in the thigh.

"I want you to fuck me. You have no idea how much I want you to fuck me right now." Breckin's getting a pretty good idea of just how much and he's fully on board with that plan.

"But – " Seriously, he's going to kick Ryan's ass all over set and back again. Just as soon as they're done.

"You're killing me here, man. Spit it out." In all his life he's never been on edge so many damn times in one day and yes, he is counting junior high.

"Want you to fuck me 'til I can't walk, want to still feel you in the morning right before you fuck me all over again. And then I want to see if I can't do the same to you."

Jesus. 

"Okay." This'll be one of his struck dumb moments then. Funny how that happens a lot round Ryan.

"And that's not happening here."

He's allowed a second of confusion before Ryan's up and straddling his thighs, both their dicks in his hand, his weight resting on the other as he leans down to kiss Breckin; hot and hard and full of promises for much later.

"Just like this –" His knees tight against Breckin's hips as he rocks forward, getting hard all over again just as Breckin's chasing his own release. He doesn't care that their timing sucks. Or that he's about ready to blow any second now. He's held on long enough.

His hands find Ryan's hips, dig in hard as Ryan's fucking awesome hand pulls it out of him. Hard and devastating and never ending seems like, not to mention quite possibly the best orgasm he's ever had in his entire life.

His hands flop useless and heavy to the bed and he knows he has a stupid grin on his face, utterly spent and kind of high with it. It takes every ounce of energy he's got left to open his eyes and lift his head to bump Ryan's forehead with his own.

"Okay, so that didn't suck."


	3. Okay, So That Didn't Suck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I which they film some more and have more sex...

Okay, so he's maybe equal parts turned on and a little bit disgusted that Ryan's writing what looks like his name in the mess on Breckin's belly. And the chances of him getting a shower before they get their call are not good. He's gonna be funky and gross for the rest of the day now. Awesome.

"Dude." He bats Ryan's hand away and has to look someplace else when Ryan starts sucking his fingers, slow and deliberate. They absolutely do not have time for this right now.

"You are the worst person I know." As he pulls himself up to swing his legs over the side of the bed and _damn_ he aches in all the best places, he almost convinces himself they really do have time for round two.

"Ah, you love it." Ryan's hand finds the back of Breckin's neck, fingers carding up to make it even more of a mess than it already is. And then he's sitting up to kiss Breckin's shoulder before rolling up and off the bed in a move that really should not be possible right now.

Breckin's not sure whether it's fortune that gives them the time to find their clothes and get themselves at least kind of respectable before there's a knock at the door, or they were so loud everyone was just giving them time to get done. Fuck, he hopes it's fortune.

Except of course, it's not. 

They're met with a round of applause as he opens the trailer door, and it's like some hero's homecoming lined with smiling PAs handing over bottled water and protein bars like they've just run a marathon. They're met at the end by Mike, who's the only person Breckin knows with a worse poker face than his own. He should be pissed off, yet he can't seem to stop the corner of his mouth from twitching up.

"You boys get that out your system?"

Breckin was ready to dig himself the biggest hole and lose himself in it when he opened the trailer door. Now he's just going to go ahead and find the tallest lighting rig he can and jump off.

Ryan on the other hand is way too happy. 

Fucker.

Breckin just nods sharply, his hands shoved into too tight pockets as he heads for wardrobe and makeup and absolutely does not look back at Ryan who's walking too close behind him.

The next set up has them in the tiny shorts again. It's a crowded bar scene; strobe lights cutting through smoke, the cameras weaving through bodies packed four deep at the bar, dancing to music that'll be added later. Right now it feels kind of surreal to shout over noise that isn't there, to run over lines four different ways so they can get coverage. It's no different from any other day on any other shoot and he's been doing this for long enough for it to be like breathing.

He should be coasting this.

Only he's not and he's not the only one who's noticed.

Mike calls cut after take fifteen when Breckin drops the bottle he's supposed to passing over the bar, gives him a look that says 'I know you just got laid but get your shit together, okay?' all with one raised eyebrow before he points at Ryan with a tip of his head.

Mike moves on to a crowd shot and Breckin knows he's got about twenty to get it together. Seems like not anywhere near long enough. He pulls out this scene's pages from under the bar and takes another look. He doesn't need to, it's pretty much seared into his brain what's coming up next; it'll be five seconds on screen and the longest fucking scene of his life. And it's not like they haven't done it a thousand times in rehearsal, a handily placed PA hiding behind the bar, hands held up to catch Breckin if he threatened to fall on his ass. It's just that –

Ryan flicks his ear, fucks up his hair and plants a wet one on the side of his head.

"You're doing it again."

"Fuck off. You're not gonna be wearing tiny shorts in front of like a million people while you rub your dick on the back of the neck of the guy you just blew in your trailer."

"But I am gonna be wearing tiny shorts getting a dick rubbed on the back of my neck by the guy that's gonna be fucking my brains out later."

Breckin can't fault Ryan's logic there. He kinda hates that Ryan's so damn _calm_ about the whole dick/neck thing.

He groans, drops his head to the bar and bangs it a few times. It's not helping.

"You're not helping."

Ryan's hand lands on the back of his neck, fingers twisting in his hair, nails scratching at his scalp and he's groaning again before he can hold it back. It's more like something from the bad '70s porn they watched for 'research' when they got this gig than any kind of real protest. Yeah, he's well and truly fucked.

Ryan lets go with a tug that does things to Breckin he really does _not_ want happening right now, and steps back out of Breckin's space to lean on the bar.

"Way I see it," He taps his foot on Breckin's calf as if he needs to get his attention, and that makes him snort a laugh. Like his attention's been on anything _but_ Ryan. "We get through this scene, an hour, maybe two, max and then we're done."

Breckin lifts his head, pretty sure there's a mark for make-up to bitch at him about right between his eyes.

"Okay?"

"And then we're _done_."

Breckin thinks he should be forgiven for being a little slow today, seeing as several new and unexpected things have landed in his lap. Literally. It must show on his face, cause Ryan smacks the back of his head and frowns at him.

"So, we get through the next couple hours without you drilling a hole in the back of my neck, then we get to go _home_." The 'and do all the things we said we were gonna do' left unsaid, but Breckin can see it in Ryan's fucking smirk, hell, can damn well feel it right to his toes. The next couple hours are gonna be torture.

He's seriously considering an ice pack down his shorts after take two. By take five he's been caught by the PA twice already, his back and legs are aching from pulling himself up and he's bitten his lip almost raw. It's not all him; Salma's got the whole porn soundtrack thing going on and Ryan keeps pinching the inside of his leg. For a guy who wants to get it done so he can get it _done_ , he's being a real pain in Breckin's ass.

They nail it on take seven, Breckin pulling himself up, grabbing the bottle from the bar and ducking down just right. Ryan leans back just a little, just enough to rub the back of his head on Breckin's belly before he's leaning down to let Breckin off his shoulders, lets his hands linger on Breckin's thighs as his feet hit the floor. 

He's more than a little relieved when Mike calls cut and print.

"Home."

With that, Ryan smacks his ass, turns and is gone, leaving Breckin a little breathless right there in the middle of the sound stage, crew and PAs doing what crew and PAs do around him, trying not to feel a little lost.

 

He spends too long in the shower, head bowed as he watches soap and glitter wash down the drain. He's trying hard not to over think. It's him and Ryan and it's always been every kind of easy right from that first audition, to dragging him from the bus stop to Seth's place, to late nights talking shit, to early mornings inhaling coffee and burnt scrambled eggs. He's never felt the need to pay much mind to who they are before, and now it's like he can't not. 

He sucks at not over thinking.

He bangs his head on the soap tray when Ryan raps his knuckles on the stall door.

"I swear to God man, I'm gonna start without you if you don't get your shit together."

Ryan it seems, has no problem with not over thinking.

He's still damp when he pulls on his pants, the collar of his shirt wet before he's done yanking it over his head. He might be done with thinking, but it's still not any easier looking at Ryan, figures he's likely to jump on him there and then and fuck the bed and the nice private hotel room if he does. And Ryan, he'd say Ryan looked _bored_ if he didn't know better, just leaning against the wall, his legs crossed at the ankles, head to one side just watching.

It's a little disconcerting. And makes him want to get out of there right the fuck now.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he's grabbing his gear, messes with his hair like it's going to make a difference and gives up with a shrug. It's _Ryan_.

No one asks them out for a beer after work. Mike just reminds them tomorrow is pick ups and they're not needed, Breckin ignores the thumbs up Salma gives him as he's getting into the car. Okay so _everyone_ knows. 

Tight sets are awesome.

He's sure the service takes the same time it always does through Toronto traffic on a Thursday night, it just seems like twice as long. It doesn't help that Ryan's not saying a word, just got his hand on Breckin's thigh, higher with every stop light, 'til it's full on riding his dick through his jeans every time the driver hits the brakes. It's Yonge St, brakes are a given.

He's pretty much chewed through his lip from staying quiet by the time they pull up in front of the hotel. Nodding politely to the valet as he opens the door, walks them to the hotel entrance. Ryan's so close Breckin swears he can feel him breathing and it's takes every part of him not to reach back and shove his hands down the front of Ryan's pants.

They don't bother to check for messages, just grab their key cards and head straight for the elevators, each of them pounding on the buttons 'til there's a ping and a light and then they're shifting from foot to foot, looking at everything but each other.

For fuck sake, this is ridiculous. And he's not just talking about the elevators.

"This is ridiculous." He nudges Ryan's shoulder hard enough to get him stepping back, catches Ryan's hands in his own before he can get too far and he's grinning now, so close to getting what he wants he doesn't care anymore.

" _Finally_." Like Ryan was waiting for him to buy a clue and then Breckin's getting pushed back against the elevator door just as it's opening and it's some kind of miracle that they don't both land on their asses.

It's not 'til the door closes that they see the elevator guy standing in the corner, one white gloved hand ready to push for whatever floor they ask for. There goes Breckin's plan to get the party started on the way up.

"Erm, hi!" As he straightens out Ryan's shirt and then his own, trying real hard not to look like he's ready to say 'fuck it' and jump Ryan right there in front of the guy and, now he looks up, the security camera too.

"Right, can we have sixteen? Please." He backs up a little, stands next to Ryan slightly behind the guy and finds the print on the wall next to Ryan fascinating. He doesn't want to look at Ryan, knows that if he does he won't be able to keep his hands to himself. It's kind of stupid how much he doesn't want to wait 'til they get to his floor, how much he's itching to get his hands under Ryan's shirt, down his pants, get his mouth –

The elevator pings again. About fucking time.

Elevator to doorway takes one hundred thirty five steps, give or take, he counted them once. It doesn't take anywhere near the time it did then to make it now and that includes stopping a couple time to see if that spot behind Ryan's ear tastes any better without make up (it does).

The key card doesn't work the first five times he tries it; impatience making his hands shake, frustration making him near snap the damn thing in half. Of course Ryan gets it to work first time.

"I hate you," as Ryan pushes past him and into the room.

"I'm awesome." And there's that grin again as he drags Breckin in after him and kicks the door shut behind them.

Ryan doesn't let go, his fingers twisted in the front of Breckin's shirt and there's a second or two when neither of them move, just look at each other. 

"We doing this?" And later Breckin will swear there's maybe a little bit of doubt in Ryan's words and Ryan will call bullshit, but that's for later.

Breckin gets his hands on Ryan's hips, shoves his thumbs under the waistband of his jeans and gets up as close as he can without involving actual climbing.

"Fuck yes, we're doing this."

This time it's a little more coordinated, not much mind, but at least they don't bang into anything on the way to the bed, manage to get their shirts off without smacking each other in the head. So Breckin's gonna call it a win.

He stops Ryan when he goes for his zipper, wraps his fingers round Ryan's wrists, presses his thumbs to the pulse.

"Can we – want to – can we just –"

Ryan's nodding, smiling as he sweeps his fingers up over Breckin's belly, thumbs pressing into his ribs and it's one of things he loves about Ryan. Ryan _gets_ him. 

"Yeah."

Breckin kisses Ryan then, gets himself a little lost in it, hands on Ryan's jaw, thumb catching at Ryan's lip to tug it down, they're not in any rush now and there's about a thousand things he wants to do, all of them right up there with getting Ryan naked and under him and it's too much to ask him to choose just one, right?

Ryan's got his hands all over Breckin's back, t-shirt fisted in his hands, nails catching through the fabric, inching it up and dropping it back down in a rhythm Breckin's matching with his hips. He's taking little breaths in through his nose, more and more desperate as it goes on, and Breckin's lightheaded and horny with it and not willing to miss a single thing about any of it.

Ryan goes with him as he pulls away just a little, sucks on Breckin's lip and chases it with his tongue, his hands dropping to rest on Breckin's ass, digging his fingers in hard and pulling him back close. Breckin's allowing himself a little pause, it's not anything more than a really fucking awesome 'holy shit we're really doing this'.

Of course it shows on his face, can feel it, eyebrows screwed up and his teeth in his lip and it's Ryan who's backing up now, just a step back to sit on the bed. He lets his hands fall to the back of Breckin's thighs, rubs circles down to his knees, back up again to hook in Breckin's pockets before he drops them to the bed, leans back as he looks up. And Breckin would be as dumb as Ryan says he is if he didn't see the want written right there as he licks his lips, tips his head to one side.

"You should know," as Ryan rocks his hips up, wraps his legs round the back of Breckin's calves, "I've got a list." And it's impossible for Breckin to miss just where Ryan's looking to start working on that list.

It's less than a step to get Breckin's legs against the bed, to get his knees pressed to the insides of Ryan's thighs, to rest his hands on Ryan's shoulders. And those thousand and one things he wants them to be doing clamour to be first and okay he's thinking, but it's good thinking.

"Lists are good." As he rubs his thumb over Ryan's pulse, drags the nail down to leave a mark and he's imagining all the other places he'd like to leave marks on; hickies and bites and tiny thumb print bruises he can search out with his tongue. He might be a little distracted by that. "We should get started on that right?"

He's not thinking when he sinks to his knees, hands falling from shoulders to thighs, his thumbs just brushing over Ryan's fly. And dammit if his hands aren't shaking right now just from the idea of what they're gonna do. He looks up then, pushes at Ryan's hips, wants him on his back and right now.

"Definitely." And Ryan's laughing as he falls back, fingers hard in Breckin's shoulders to pull him up and on top and it's not quite what Breckin had in mind, not just yet anyway, but he's a flexible, easy going kinda guy and he can go with it. He's always gonna go with it.

Breckin settles his legs either side of Ryan's hips, his hands bracketing Ryan's chest and just takes his fill. He's got a feeling he'll be doing that a lot more before they're done.

"What?" Ryan's got his hands on Breckin's ass, fingers digging in hard enough to get him catching a breath, make him rock back for more.

He dives down for a quick and messy kiss, can't seem to pull away again when he's done. He's not trying that hard. "Thinking maybe you should tell me what's first on your list and go from there." And if his voice is a little shot, his breathing a ragged mess now, when they're only just getting started...

"It's a long list –" 

And they've got tonight and all day tomorrow and – after that. And that's as far as he's gonna take it right now. Except there's that look on Ryan's face again; one Breckin can't bear to see, the same one he knows Ryan caught on his own face before and they're both dumbasses for exactly that.

Breckin straightens one leg, dips the same elbow and it's nothing to get them rolling, get Ryan up on top of him, get one hand on Ryan's ass and the other all tangled up in his hair.

"So spill it."

"Us. Naked. Always a good start."

There's a moment there when Breckin thinks maybe Ryan's trying to strangle him with his own shirt, or maybe do irreparable damage to his dick trying to get his jeans off, but they get there, kind of. Breckin's still wearing one of his socks, the other hanging off his big toe, and Ryan's underwear is stuck somewhere between his knee and his foot, but Jesus, naked feels good, so Breckin doesn't give a shit.

They're all tangled up in the bed sheets, in each other too, and it's like they've got this _need_ to take up as little space as possible; chests to hips, knees pressed between thighs and sharing each other's air with every breath. And Breckin's kinda dizzy with it, can't stop smiling as he goes for another kiss and another after that, his hands drifting over Ryan's back, shoulder blades to the dimples just before the curve of his ass like he can't get enough and really, he can't.

"I'm a dumbass."

"Yeah, no shit."

Ryan’s got Breckin's hands pushed up over his head with the next kiss, Ryan's hands round his wrists and holding fast.

"Don't move."

Ryan's shifting back and away and it takes some kind of effort for Breckin not to sit up and grab after him, pull him back and get them lined up just right again. Instead he just watches Ryan slide off the end of the bed, find his jeans to dig through the pockets, not for one second taking his eyes off Breckin. And he can wait, can not move, his fists might be tight enough to leave crescents in his palms and all of him's waiting on what might happen next, but he's not gonna move.

Except maybe to kick the inside of Ryan's thigh as he's crawling back up the bed. 

"You're a fucking asshole. You do know that right?"

He gets a bite just above the inside of his knee for that, a kiss just a little further up; Ryan's breath too hot on his skin, his tongue leaving a wet trail from his balls to his hip and Breckin's _this_ close to saying fuck it and getting his hands in Ryan's hair when Ryan looks up, shakes his head 'no' and digs his fingertips hard into Breckin's thighs.

"Swear to God man, if you move –" He sucks a bite right there under Breckin's navel, drags his teeth up over his belly to his nipple, flicks his tongue over and back again before he bites again, hard enough to sting this time.

Breckin's more than likely gonna bite clear through his own lip before the night's even halfway done. It's just as likely that Ryan's gonna drive him every kind of crazy and laugh the whole way through too. If he didn't fucking love the guy so much it's equally as likely he'd find some way to get his own back and then some. Then again, love ain't got nothing to do with it, he's going to anyway. Later.

Ryan settles his knees either side of Breckin's hips, his feet tucked back under Breckin's thighs as he sits up, wicked grin plastered all over his face, one hand wandering from collarbones to hips and back again, slow, like they have all the time in the world.

"We're skipping right to five." 

Right, there's a list.

"And five is?" 

"One of the ways you get to fuck me."

Ryan drops a condom and a little pack of lube on Breckin's chest before he sits back, his knees spread wide enough that his ass is resting right on Breckin's dick and the pillow behind Breckin's head is nothing close to good enough, but it's all he's got to hang onto for now.

"Gonna fucking kill me –" Ryan looks too fucking smug about that too.

And Ryan's looking at Breckin like he's everything and it's a little too much. Breckin can feel the blush creeping up from his chest to his ears, too hot, too much all of a sudden under that gaze. It's not like they don't know damn near everything about each other already; living out of the other's pockets before they even got this gig, but this, this is something different. It's like Ryan can see right inside, that when they're done, everything's gonna be different and of course there's that tiny part of Breckin he can't shut up telling him it's not gonna be a good different.

Well, fuck that shit.

He looks down at his chest, grins wide and bright as he looks back up at Ryan, because really, little voice in his head aside, this is fast becoming the most awesome day ever. And Ryan might've said he couldn't move his hands, but he didn't say a thing about his hips, so he rolls up real slow, feet planted flat on the bed to lift Ryan up a little too, figuring he'll get the idea.

He gets all of Ryan's weight on his thighs in reply, Ryan's palms on his hips to hold him still.

"Not yet –" And then Ryan's reaching for the lube, his fingertips ghosting over Breckin's skin in a tease that already has Breckin cursing under one breath and thanking fuck that they took the edge off before under the next, cause he's halfway to being done from just this.

"Relax okay?" Then he's tearing into the lube with his teeth, squeezing it out over his fingers and any chance of Breckin ever relaxing near Ryan again goes out the window when he lifts up to reach behind himself to, to –

Breckin really wasn't that attached to his bottom lip anyway.

"Jesus fucking – " Anything else even remotely intelligent he was gonna say getting lost when Ryan wraps his other hand round Breckin's dick and twists his wrist, wicked and slow, drags his thumb over the head to press just under.

His fingers curl tight in the pillow and it's taking everything to not reach up and touch, to not flip them over and get himself inside Ryan right fucking now.

He shakes the hair out of his eyes, swallows hard and takes a deep breath, willing himself to calm the fuck down as he looks up at Ryan, watches the way his eyes drift shut as his hands move, how there's sweat beading on his forehead, just over his top lip, how he bites his lip, tips his head back with each little noise he's making. There are so many things about today Breckin thinks he could get used to, seeing Ryan like this, that's coming up pretty much on top. He's – there's no other word for it and he can kick his own ass for it later - _beautiful_.

"Do you – fuck – can't even." Ryan's shuts him up with a kiss and it's nothing like Breckin's expecting. It's slow and soft, gentle even, like Ryan knows he needs a minute and he's taking one for himself while he's at it.

"I got you, okay?" There's little more than breath between them, Ryan's lips brushing over his as he speaks and Breckin can't help but move, brings his hands up to run his fingers through Ryan's hair, give it a little tug.

"Okay." He doesn't wait for Ryan to tell him to get his arms back over his head, just smiles against Ryan's lips and settles back, his fingers a loose fist in the pillow under his head.

"Jesus – now who's gonna kill who?" Ryan tugs at Breckin's lip with his teeth as he pulls back, real slow, making a show of it, to grab the condom off Breckin's chest. Holds it up between two fingers like some kind of prize before he rolls it between his fingers and back again like he would a silver dollar.

"Real soon, we're gonna do this without –" As he tears into the wrapper. And if Breckin survives this with any kind of brain function intact he'll he very very much in favour of that plan.

"But for now –" As he rocks back just enough to get his hand on Breckin's dick again, thumb rubbing over his balls as he rolls the condom down with the other, taking his own sweet time. It's almost too much, it's got his toes curling in the sheets and his grip on the pillow hard enough to make his fingers go numb. And Breckin's about as pissed off as he's turned on, that Ryan can do that to him over and again.

Ryan kisses him again as he scoots forward, gets Breckin all lined up right and Breckin stops breathing when Ryan's free hand pushes first one of his hands then the other right up over his head, holds his wrists hard and fast and sinks back down.

And it's like he's had all the wind knocked out of him in one go, like he's flying and falling and fuck it if he can even form a thought right now, much above –

"Oh holy –" As Ryan sinks lower, takes all of Breckin inside and Jesus, it's like it's never gonna stop and why the hell would he want it to. If before was almost too much, this tips it right over. There is no fucking way he's gonna last, not with how Ryan feels around him, on top of him, the way he's fucking _looking_ at him.

"Ry – just, please – I can't –"

And then he's all the way inside and Ryan's ass is resting on his thighs and Ryan's got a hand round each of Breckin's wrists, the thumbs pressing into Breckin's palms.

And he's fucking smiling.

"Yeah, you can." At least he's as breathless as Breckin is right now, voice coming out shot raw. "You're gonna too."

It's not a question and Breckin knows balls to toes Ryan's right.  
Until Ryan does this rolling, lift twist thing with his hips, just as he grips Breckin's hips with his knees and digs his thumbs into Breckin's palms and that pushes every part of Breckin right up close to the edge again.

"Feel so fucking – God, wanted you – in me, knew it'd be –" 

Breckin needs to close his eyes for a second, catch a moment and a breath, something. He can't though, doesn't want to look away, doesn't care that that's what's gonna undo him, cause it's _Ryan_. And they're actually really doing this and awesome doesn't even come close to covering how this, how Ryan feels right now. 

Ryan leans down to kiss him then, his dick smearing heat across Breckin's belly as he moves, grinds down, lifts back a little again and Breckin's going to need a bucket for what's left of his brains soon and he'll tell Ryan that just as soon as he can say something more than 

"Oh shit – that's – fuck _yes_ –"

Breckin's got his fingers closed down over Ryan's in his palms now, holding on for all it's worth and fuck it if he can keep still, quits even trying, hips riding up high to get deeper, to get more. His feet are slipping on the sheets, thighs burning and his shoulders aching, so close to losing it, it's all he can feel. But it's every kind of perfect and addictive, and he's smiling again when he gets that it's not much of a surprise that he's always gonna want more.

And the way Ryan's looking at him – _took you long enough, you dumb fuck_ has got him laughing and testing just how hard Ryan's got hold of his wrists.

It takes a minute after Ryan lets go for Breckin to realize, distracted, cause seriously, there ain't a single person with a pulse that wouldn't be.

 _Jesus_.

And then he's reaching for all he can get his hands on; thighs and chest, the hard peek of Ryan's nipple, not settling anywhere for long 'til he gets to Ryan's hips. There'll be bruises later, perfect marks he can fit his fingers over again.

Ryan's leaning back now, the hand that's not got a death grip on Breckin's thigh, wrapped around his dick, every slow pull and twist marked with a little grunt, with an arch of his back and a shift of his hips. Ryan's pure sin right there on top of him, fucking riding him and the last shred of any self control Breckin's been kidding himself he has, just dissolves.

"Mother _fucker_ gonna–"

"Wait, wait –"

Ryan's asking too much, there's no way he can – he just can't. And yet somehow, Ryan's nails in his thigh, Ryan's eyes on him get him taking a second. He's holding his breath, fingertips hard in Ryan's hips as he pulls Ryan down, holds him there and arches up, tries to get deeper. 

Ryan falls forward to cover Breckin then, hand rough on his dick between them, his knuckles a sharp dig of pain in Breckin's belly as he bites out "With me, come on- " 

Ryan's hand stutters, his breath hot on Breckin's neck as he comes with a shout, teeth finding Breckin's pulse and his dick sliding hot between their bellies.

"Oh fuck _fuck_ -" Breckin's hips snapping up fast and rough, and there's a long second there where Breckin's kinda hovering, lost in that sweet almost unbearable moment before he's crashing over the edge and he's done, plain and simple. It's endless and devastating, perfect and too damn much all at once, and he's pretty sure he's dying right there with Ryan like a vice around him and even more sure that he really doesn't care. 

They don't stop; Breckin doesn't want to and Ryan's not gonna let him anyway, both of them riding it out 'til it's just too much, 'til they just can't anymore; on some sort of high they'll be chasing again just as soon as they can catch a breath.

"Holy shit."

"Understatement." Breckin can feel Ryan smiling against his neck, smiles just as wide in return when Ryan lifts his head to smear a messy kiss over Breckin's jaw before planting his hands either side of Breckin's head and pushing himself back up.

And he's the definition of well fucked. Hair sticking out all over, skin flushed and sweaty and Breckin can't help but feel a tiny bit smug about that. Can't wait to get him looking like that all over again.

"Not a fucking word." As Ryan shifts back, wriggles his fucking hips just so, has Breckin almost doubled over, his breath rushing out in a strangled cough.

"Son of a _bitch_ "

"Ah, you love me." And with that he's lifting up, hand reaching back to take care of the condom and rolling off to one side in a move Breckin would be jealous of even before the awesome sex.

And yeah he really does. Asshole.

Breckin's happy to stay right where he is, limbs about as useful as wet noodles in a sword fight anyway and it takes Ryan less than a second to dump the condom in the trash and get himself right between Breckin's legs, elbows bracketing his hips.

Okay, so Ryan has a thing about his come on Breckin's skin cause he's drawing his fingers through it, painting a line up to Breckin's collarbones, back down to his navel, over his hips 'til he's worked it in like some kind of brand.

Okay, so Breckin might have a thing about it too.

He pulls Ryan up over him again, kisses him over and again, mouth and jaw and the line of his throat, smiling the whole time, fingers in Ryan's hair, arch of his foot riding Ryan's calf. And it's as easy as everything else about them and he'll be kicking himself later for thinking somehow it wouldn't be.

It's nothing to reach up and behind to grab the room service menu from the side table and flip it open, the top of Ryan's head giving him the perfect place to rest it on.

"If we're doing this all night and all day tomorrow, I gotta eat man. Fucking makes me hungry."


	4. And That's A Wrap!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after...

It's too bright, light stabbing at his eyelids and a head that feels like he drank a fifth of scotch. Except that he doesn't drink. He shifts, legs all tangled up in the sheets and the pillow's trying to suffocate him. Every part of him aches, head to ass to the backs of his calves and he knows he's in his own bed but he doesn't know what the fuck happened to get him feeling like he got run over by a semi and backed over again a few times for good measure. 

It takes his brain point five of a second to catch up and then it's delivering a 3D surround sound replay of last night and most of this morning.

Ryan's what happened.

Breckin stretches out, fingertips to the headboard, toes pointing to the bottom of the bed as he takes a deep breath and fuck, the room reeks of sex and sweat and the nachos they never got round to finishing. He swallows hard, scrubs his hands through his hair as he blinks a few times, tries to wake up and mostly fails before he's reaching out blind to pat the other side of the bed and absolutely does not allow himself just a moment of panic when he finds it empty.

Fuck.

He pats a little bit further up, strokes down under the comforter and finds the sheets and pillow cold.

Shit and fuck. 

It takes another deep breath and a couple of seconds for him to hear the shower going, another couple after that to catch what he's guessing is singing and no one sounds _that_ bad and still thinks he’s good like Ryan.

And then he's grinning like some kind of loon while calling himself every kind of dumb fuck and it's nothing to kick the comforter off and jump up out of bed like he didn't spend a whole lot of last night getting his ass fucked into the mattress, the floor and the chair in the corner before it.

The bathroom door's not locked, hell it's not even shut all the way and he goes through it without a second thought, decides he looks like shit when he looks in the mirror and doesn't care. Just takes a piss like it's any other morning and his best friend isn't taking a shower after they both crossed several pretty awesome lines.

"The couple two doors down called, just wondered when you were gonna be done strangling that cat."

"Fuck you."

"Not 'til you've brushed your teeth."

Breckin flushes, washes his hands and brushes his teeth real quick, grabs the complimentary toothbrush and little tube of toothpaste on his way into the shower, the spray soaking the floor before he's got a chance to close the door behind him.

He shoots Ryan a grin as he hands both over. "I know where your mouth's been –" 

And even after everything that they've done, last night and before it, that thought has him flushing beet red, chest to eyebrows, gets him thinking about all the other places Ryan's mouth would've been if they hadn't both passed out from sheer exhaustion.

Ryan pokes his tongue out and fucking _wiggles_ it at Breckin, flicks it against his teeth and across his bottom lip before he's squeezing the toothpaste right into his mouth and grinning around the toothbrush as he turns his back to shove his face back under the spray.

The shower's one of those with jets all over, rain head in the ceiling, little bottles on a shelf in the corner and rails either side in case anyone might need to hold on tight and more than room enough for two. And maybe Breckin had had ideas about this shower before, but it's nothing on what's coming to mind right now.

He reaches round to grab the soap, a tiny little bar that's swallowed up in his palm and rubs it between his hands, turning it over and over 'til his hands are slick and foam pops out between his knuckles. He takes a moment just to look, eyes tracking from the nape of Ryan's neck to the small of his back, deciding right there and then that that's something he's gonna do a lot more from now on. And then he's crowding up close to Ryan's back, his mouth to Ryan's ear.

"Stay right there." 

There's something maybe a little bit ridiculous about Ryan standing there, toothbrush half hanging out his mouth, frozen still at Breckin's words. And Breckin's expecting some smart ass reply, but that's all blown away when Ryan lets his head fall back to rest on Breckin's shoulder and his hands go for the rails to hold on fast, the toothbrush forgotten on the shower floor.

Breckin takes half a step back, just enough to trace the line of Ryan's spine with his fingertips, slow and careful, like he's learning every bump and hollow smiling as he hears Ryan's breath catch. He runs the soap up over Ryan's ribs and across his shoulder blades, rubs slow circles into his shoulders and down his arms, taking his fill. He cups his hands under the spray, soaps up again and then he's all up close, chest to Ryan's back as he reaches 'round, palms and fingertips skating over Ryan's chest and belly, not staying anywhere too long, kinda greedy with it and not for one second feeling bad about that.

Breckin finds that Ryan's ticklish just below his ribs, that he makes the best, almost obscene noises when Breckin's fingers dig into his hips and that he can't help but rock back when Breckin's teeth graze his shoulder blade. Breckin's smiling as his hands dip lower, little bar of soap almost gone now as he circles his palm over Ryan's belly, lower through the hair the leads down from his navel 'til his fingers brush over Ryan's dick. He curls his fingers in a loose fist and that gets him a sucked-in breath and deep groan he swears he can feel in his own chest and then an elbow in his ribs when his hand doesn't linger.

He nips at Ryan's skin, nails dragging down Ryan's thighs, what's left of the soap left to drop on the tile and he was going to take his time, really he was, but it's near impossible when all he wants to do is take and have and do it all over again as many times as they can before they have to stop.

He's had a taste now and no one can blame him for wanting more.

"So fucking – can't even –" His head shaking even as he's laughing at himself, kissing every place he can reach when words fail him, hands not still for even a second. Addicted doesn't even come close to what he is right now and he's got a feeling it's not anything he's gonna want to give up any time soon.

Ryan's turning in his arms then, mouth finding his, fingers tight in Breckin's hair to hold him there as he bites at Breckin's lip, licks over the sting of it. 

"Want you to suck me." Little more than a whisper against Breckin's lips, his hands falling to Breckin's shoulders to press down. And it's nothing for Breckin to let his knees fold, not paying much mind to the hard tile or the spray beating on the back of his neck as his hands find Ryan's hips, fingers digging into the bruises he left right there last night. And he'll be the first to admit he gets a little distracted by that patch of skin right above Ryan's hip, how good it tastes, the way it gives under his teeth.

Ryan hisses out a low curse, dick bumping Breckin's chin as his hips snap forward, one hand hard on Breckin's shoulder, the other tangling in Breckin's hair to pull his head back.

"Come _on_ -"

He takes a long moment, just to look and for no other reason than he can, water splashing in his face, breath a little short and his heart near pounding out his chest. Cause even though he knows it's happening, can _feel_ it fucking everywhere, it's almost like he can't quite believe it. And then he's grinning wide and pulling against the hold Ryan has on his hair to press his face into Ryan's belly, nip at it with his teeth.

He gets another face full of water when he looks up at Ryan then, still can't seem to wipe the smile off his face and he knows every time he thinks about this whatever it is they've got going on, he's gonna have the same look on his face. It's going to make going back to work tomorrow interesting.

"Impatient asshole."

Ryan huffs out a laugh, hips tipping up in an invitation Breckin's never gonna refuse, fingers tight enough in Breckin's hair to sting and oh yeah, that's definitely a thing.

And as much as Breckin called Ryan on it, he's just as impatient, hand wrapped tight around what he can't fit in his mouth, damn near choking just the same as he takes Ryan in 'til he can't breathe, 'til his lungs are burning and his head's pounding. Pulling off, cheeks hollowed and tongue dragging, just to go back and do it all again, swallowing around a groan when Ryan's nails dig in his scalp.

Breckin spreads his knees wide, ass resting on his heels as he sits back enough to look up, finds Ryan looking right back at him, eyes half closed and lip caught between his teeth. _Want_ hits him hard, makes his chest ache and his hands shake and then he's getting it together enough to take Ryan in again, slow this time, tongue hard and flat on the underside of Ryan's dick, lips dragging over stupidly soft skin and he's a little lost in it, a little drunk on the noises Ryan's making, the way he can't seem to hold himself still, and Breckin can't see a time when he's not gonna be, truth be told.

And as much as Breckin's getting off on Ryan's hands in his hair, the way his nails are scratching at his scalp, it's not _enough_ damn it and he finds himself grunting an impatient _come on_ when he pulls back to catch a breath.

His scalp tingles when Ryan lets go to drag his thumb over Breckin's lip, dipping in to press on his tongue, scratch over Breckin's bottom teeth. There's a question in the look he gives Breckin and he doesn't even have to think twice before he's nodding, biting down on Ryan's thumb hard enough to make him suck in a breath.

"Yeah – fuck - yeah okay."

And then Ryan's got hold of him, thumbs on Breckin's jaw, fingers hard on the back of his neck and he's filled up to near on choking all over again. 

He lets himself go then, jaw slack and tongue flat, water pounding his face, slicking his hair flat to his head, but he doesn't close his eyes, can't. Wouldn't want to miss the way Ryan's looking at him right now, with something that looks pretty close to awe. 

It's rough and hard and it sure ain't pretty, and exactly what Breckin wanted. Breckin's hands on Ryan's hips, Ryan's in Breckin's hair and he knows if he let himself, just one touch and he'd be done. But he doesn't, just hangs on to that almost unbearable need, coasting on the edge as his hips fuck up into nothing and his jaw begins to ache.

He knows Ryan's right there with him, he's got tells; the way his breath catches on a moan, how his fingers tangle all up in Breckin's hair, tug and release, that shudder when he presses in, holds it there for a second too long before his hips snap back again. And every one of them is something Breckin's planning on seeing again. And then Breckin's nose is hard against Ryan's belly and he's surrounded and filled, hard sharp jabs of Ryan's hips and there's nothing to do but fucking take it.  
And it's maybe a little bit scary just how much he likes it.

"Gonna – oh shit - _shit_ -"

Then he's getting pulled back and off and up, Ryan's mouth crashing into his in a messy kiss as he pushes Breckin back against the tile and gets his hand round both their dicks.

" _Jesus_ "

Breckin's sure there's gonna come a time when they don't get each other off quite so quick. It wasn't last night and it's not happening this morning either and just like before, he really couldn't give a shit.

Ryan chokes out a strangled laugh when he comes, bites hard on Breckin's lip and sucks the taste of himself out of Breckin's mouth even as he twists his wrist just fucking _so_ to get Breckin to follow right after. And as many times as they've done this, as many times as he's come, it's still awesome and perfect, threatening to take his knees out from under him and all the air out his lungs.

Breckin's head makes a dull thud on the tile as he lets it fall back, tries to catch a breath and mostly fails when Ryan crowds up all close again and kisses him. It's slow and careful, makes him smile the smile of the truly fucked out and sleepy, gets him making happy little noises he'll totally deny later as he lets his hands wander up over Ryan's back, down again to settle on his hips. And no he's really not using Ryan to hold himself up.

"We can sleep here right?"

Except that that motherfucker's laughing and _moving_ , and Breckin's sliding down the wall. Sex makes him useless okay.

"Come on." As he reaches a hand down to grab Breckin's arm before he lands on his ass. "Get cleaned up, I want breakfast."

"You're a machine." With a groan as he reaches for the shampoo, dumps a handful in his palm and elbows Ryan in the ribs while he's at it. "No one human can be that perky after sex."

Then he's being pulled under the spray, Ryan's hands back in his hair, Ryan's mouth shutting him up and okay so maybe Ryan's just a little bit human.

It's less about cleaning up than making out really, both of them working up to being horny all over again by the time they're done, neither much willing to let go of the other for long, kinda stupid with it, truth be told. And Breckin catches how he looks in the mirror, as he's scrubbing the towel through his hair, Ryan plastered to his back and biting on his neck, and that's how he looks, kinda stupid if that smile is anything to go by. 

They'd made plans for this day, back before _this_. One of those _'Hey lets go do something touristy, buy crappy postcards to send to Seth and shit,'_ type things and it's in the back of Breckin's mind to say something about it, maybe do something more than fuck around and eat and sleep. But then Ryan's tongue's just behind his ear, his fingers drawing circles on Breckin's hip and he can't think of anything _but_ fucking around all day.

It'd be fucking stupid how quick he's gotten used to having Ryan all up under his skin, crowding into his space, making him _think_. You know, if it wasn't so awesome.

He's pushing himself back against Ryan without a second thought, hands reaching behind to grab at Ryan's ass, pull him just that little bit closer before he's turning his head to kiss the top of Ryan's head, wet curls tickling his lip and he can't help but smile. Again. Yeah, stupid.

He wants to tell Ryan he makes him crazy stupid, that he doesn't know where this, whatever it is, is going and that he doesn't much care, just wants it. He doesn't. It's not the time and he's not sure there ever will be. And when he thinks a little on it, pushes back and turns round in Ryan's arms, he finds he's more than okay with that. It is what it is. And it's good.

They order room service, get something trashy on pay per view, curled up on the not messy bed, getting crumbs on the sheets and salsa on the pillows, and there's a fight over the last of the fries that ends up with Breckin on his back with Ryan's mouth on his dick.

He can think of worse ways to spend a day off.

Probably, at some point, maybe, they should think about leaving the room, if only to let the service in to clean up. Breckin thinks on it for about a minute, shrugs and curls himself back around Ryan, buries his nose in Ryan's neck and sticks his hand down under the sheets to rest his palm on Ryan's belly, not doing much to hide a laugh when Ryan's snuffles and hums, warm and quiet. Dirty sheets never killed anyone.

They're already late when they wake up in the morning, not seeming able to get sore, tired asses out of bed and into gear, later still after _just five more minutes_ \- first from Ryan as the alarm goes off again and then from Breckin in the shower for a whole bunch of other reasons. Jesus, it's like he's only just discovered how very awesome third and fourth bases are. He's very much blaming Ryan for that. And all Ryan can do is laugh and kiss him some more, grab his ass before slapping it and telling him _'later'_. They'll always have later. And Breckin's not over thinking the part where he's getting used to that, not so quick as yesterday to dismiss it out of hand, pack it away for later. He's guessing that maybe's getting close to later every time they do this.

Their driver this morning seems to know more about the ins and outs of Toronto's one way, no right turn EVER system than any guy before him and he gets them to the studio before anyone really notices they're late. They grab coffee and eggs from Crafty, try not look too much like refried road kill and mostly fail. Breckin hopes Mario can do _something_ with the spectacular hicky he's got going on behind his ear.

They find their pages for the day in convenient places, coffee and candy right alongside little notes that tell them they need to keep their strength up. Breckin blushes and Ryan just laughs; loud and sharp, screws up the notes to throw at passing PA's heads before he scruffs Breckin's hair and pinches his cheeks.

He should be kinda pissed off that everyone knows, that Ryan doesn't seem to care that everyone knows. That they're getting fucking high fives from everyone; from Mark to the guy that brings the bottled water between takes. But he's not. It's Ryan and it's these guys and he can't help but smile anyway, high fives back before he flips them the bird. If anything it's easier, he's relaxed and happy and hits his mark and nails the takes one after the other. And if it keeps going down like this, pretty soon his scenes'll be done and he'll be on a plane back to LA. 

He's back in his trailer not long after, his scenes done for the day, waving off the offer of a car back to the hotel to wait for Ryan instead, and that waiting driving him nuts after little more than thirty minutes. He could hang around on set, he knows that, could snag a headset and listen in, spinning round on the spare chair next to Kent like he did every other day he was done early and not ready to call it a day. Could but doesn't and he's not entirely sure why.

He takes a too hot shower, lets his head drop low, the water hard between his shoulder blades and the back of his neck. Finds his hands wandering the paths Ryan put on them last night and this morning, catches himself smiling as he scrubs at his face, behind his ears, his fingers pressing into the bruise right there. Heat pools low in his belly, sends a shock up his spine and it's ridiculous that he's horny again, but not really that much of a surprise. Not when every time he closes eyes, lets his mind wander just a little bit, he sees Ryan. And what they did. And what they're gonna do just as soon as Ryan gets done and they can get back to the hotel. He tips his head back under the spray, swallows a mouthful of water, spits it up in a fountain above his head, the tiny stall echoing his laugh when it hits him in the face on the way back down. 

Finishing up and not letting his hands linger anywhere too long proves a little harder than he thought it would be and by the time he's done he's about ready for Ryan to be done and for them the get the fuck out of there. Yeah, it's ridiculous, _they're_ ridiculous but there really isn't any part of this, what they're doing, that doesn't have him thinking it's really fucking good too.

He could will himself to calm the fuck down, get dressed and go back on set, find something to do just to do _something_ , behave like a grown assed man, rather than some kid that can't keep it in his pants. Could call Seth and shoot the shit, play Nintendo and drink too much Dr Pepper, could sit here and _not_ think about yesterday, last night and this morning. Not think about how awesome later is likely to be.

All things he could do, if he put his mind to it. Except his mind is most definitely not on anything like that.

He huffs out another laugh, shaking his head as he raids the fridge for a soda, almost losing the towel from his hips as he stands up again and then thinks _fuck it_ and lets the towel drop anyway. He's dry and warm and comfy enough in his own skin and the only other person with a key is Ryan and they're so very much past anything like modesty, stopped worrying about that long before yesterday, so it's no big deal to go sit on the couch, soda resting up on the arm and his feet on the coffee table. 

He tries the tv, remote flung off to the other side of the couch when nothing holds his attention for more than a couple minutes, too distracted anyway. He's been half hard all day; want and need banked low and waiting, just a look near on enough to get him going again and it's been a while since - not anything he's had cause to think much on before now. Before Ryan.

And he thinks maybe it's right that it's Ryan that's got him thinking on it again. Fast friends right from the get go, nothing too much for either of them and nothing more comfortable than time spent doing nothing much of anything. It's right that this should be as easy and comfortable as everything else, his stupid freak out aside, just another part of who they are with each other and labels and declarations can go fuck themselves. He's happy and horny and kinda stupid with it, won't mean anything more than what it is, good with that and as sure that Ryan's on exactly the same page, as he is of himself.

He needs to come up with something other than awesome when he thinks about it, but if it fits then that's what it is.

He's in kind of a half doze when he hears the door swing open to bang on the side of the trailer, realises after a second he's got his hand on his dick, figures he's got another to get his hand _off_ his dick before he gets caught out and then doesn't bother when he sees that it's Ryan. Of course it's Ryan.

"Hey. You done?" Voice sleepy and rough and there's no missing where Ryan's looking, no mistaking the hitch in his breath or the flush on his skin. And that ain't ever getting old.

" _Christ_ -" Ryan's hand drops to cup his dick through his jeans as the other swipes over his face to scrub back through his hair. "If you don't get some clothes on right the fuck now, we're never getting out of here and I am _not_ fucking you in your trailer. Not tonight anyway." 

The pink teddy bear scrubs make up thought would be cool, totally count as clothing.

"You look ridiculous." And that would mean something if Ryan wasn't crowded up all along Breckin's back, face in Breckin's hair and hands wandering low.

"And yet you still can't keep your hands off my ass. You do realise you're traumatising the little pink bears right?" Ass nudging back and reaching for the crumpled track pants on the floor.

The pants don't do a damn thing to hide Breckin's junk, nor do they do much to stop the cold air that seems determined to shrink said junk to next to useless. But at least it makes for getting out of there and into the car a little less _awkward_ , if it didn't look like he was heading for a shift on the children's ward that is. Fucking make up. 

They get the same driver as this morning; his magical road divining skills intact and they get back to the hotel before Breckin's had half a chance to drive himself nuts with want. They're even kinda respectable when they get to the desk to grab his key, as respectable as a guy in pink scrubs can be, ignoring the pointed looks and the downright rude stares to head for the elevators. And if he doesn't look at Ryan for too long maybe he'll be okay 'til they get to the room.

It's a close call with the - okay, the corridor's deserted, no one there to care so neither of them do and it's nothing short of a miracle that Breckin hasn't landed face first on the carpet the way his pants are heading south to his ankles.

"Who knew you had a thing for pink teddies?" He doesn't even bother with trying the card this time, just hands to over his shoulder to Ryan before he plants both hands on the door in front of him, kicks the pants off his ankles and grinds his ass back against Ryan's hips.

Ryan's answer is a hard bite to the back of Breckin's neck, nose buried in his hair as he reaches round to blindly work the card into the slot. Breckin would be laughing at Ryan's frustrated grunt when it doesn't work if he wasn't so busy trying to get fucked through Ryan's jeans up against the door.

"Just – aw fuck it." And Ryan's pulling away, side stepping Breckin to get them inside and it's just like the first time they did this, no less urgent, just as frustratingly slow, like the door's got something against them getting laid.

"Move –" And okay, so Breckin might have a bit of a thing about being manhandled, if the way his breath catches and his belly swoops is anything to go by.

Breckin knows how he looks, pink scrubs shirt tenting out in front, pants left in the hallway, but he doesn't care, just turns his back, wriggles his ass as he walks over to the bed, leaves Ryan to kick the door shut behind him.

His breath gets knocked out of him with a grunt when Ryan tackles him face down to the bed, pulls at his arms to get them over his head and he's about to complain about the face full of pillow when Ryan's mouth latches on the back of his neck again, breath hot and fast.

"All fucking day _Christ_ -" Ryan's heavy on his back, his dick hard against the rise of his ass, jeans rough on his skin and there's barely room to move, little more to breathe. Breckin's finding he likes that just fine.

"So quit stalling and come on –" Muffled by the pillow as Breckin pulls at the hold Ryan has on his wrists and rolls his shoulders back.

Ryan laughs into the back of his neck, tightens his grip a little before letting go and sitting up, hands tracing down Breckin's arms and down his back to grab the bottom of his shirt and push it up. It's bunched under Breckin's armpits, lumpy under his chest but he doesn't move, can't when Ryan's tongue flicks at his spine, lips dragging in its wake.

"Not stalling, just taking my time." And he sounds way too smug. Motherfucker.

And Breckin tries to relax, really he does, but it's really _hard_. No, he'll say _impossible_ cause Ryan's got a mouth like fucking sin and he's finding all the places he fucking _knows_ get Breckin going, make him near on mindless.

Ryan's scooting back as his mouth gets lower, biting as he goes now, sucking on the marks 'til they burn, tongue following behind and it's like some kind of torture and Breckin's gonna kick Ryan's ass about it. You know, just as soon as they're done here.

Ryan's hands are on Breckin's hips then, his tongue tracing the dimples at the base of his spine, knows it's the place that drives Breckin nuts, and not just cause he's so fucking ticklish right there.

"Hate – for fuck sake Ry –" And okay he's downright wriggling now and it's not in any way helping that his dick is crushed between his belly and the bed and he kinda likes it. Of course he could move, it's not like Ryan's really holding him down or anything. He just wants to bitch about it to feel Ryan laugh against his skin. So he just gets a good handful of the pillow, presses his elbows into the bed and pushes his ass back instead, his thighs falling wide, his knees rucking the sheets up as he pushes them up and out.

"Oh –" Breckin would swear Ryan sounds almost surprised and then his forehead's resting on Breckin's back and his hands are gone from Breckin's hips for too long. And when Breckin twists to look over his shoulder Ryan's trying real hard to get out of his jeans without actually moving. Anyone would think neither of them had had sex before, much less just this morning.

Ryan's shoulders press into Breckin's ass then, his hands first on Breckin's hips, then the outsides of his thighs to hook his thumbs behind Breckin's knees and _push_ just as he bites Breckin's ass _hard_ , soothes the sting with a swipe of his tongue then sucks hard enough to bruise.

And the sound Breckin makes should totally be _ow_ , it just doesn't come out like that.

Ryan laughs again and it's not nearly as smug as it was before, more breathless and Breckin's right there with him when Ryan's tongue dips a little lower, the biting forgotten now, lips soft as he shifts down to nose at the inside of Breckin's thighs.

There's a second's pause, just Ryan's breath hot over his skin, Breckin's hands fisted so tight in the pillow his fingers are starting to go numb and then Ryan's moving, nails dragging sharp up Breckin's thighs, fingers digging in Breckin's ass, this thumbs pressing right behind his balls.

"Right there – fuck – just don't fucking move –"

There's another second, another soft kiss and then there's Ryan's tongue. And Breckin can't breathe.

He's never done – shit, he's never even really thought much about, he knows, of course he does, it's just – and he feels all kinds of weird that he likes it so damn much, finds himself pushing back into Ryan's tongue, rolls his hips in a dirty figure eight when Ryan's chin nudges his balls. He's babbling nonsense into the pillow with every rock of his hips back, teeth hard in his lip to stop himself shouting when he knows it's not gonna work.

And then Ryan just goes for it, buries his face in Breckin's ass, bites and licks and fucking _sucks_. 

And Breckin loses his motherfucking mind.

He can't not move, it's impossible, so he lets go to reach back, get himself a handful of Ryan's hair to pull him closer, get _more_ , he doesn't care that Ryan probably can't breathe now, or that Ryan's fingernails are leaving crescents in his skin or that he's humping the mattress and fucking Ryan's face in turns. Does not give a flying fuck cause he's really, truthfully never been so fucking turned on in his life.

He hooks his knees up higher, wider, huffs out a frustrated grunt when the stupid scrub shirt falls over his head, lets go of Ryan's hair to pull it off, to get himself up and back and fucking riding Ryan's face and yeah, he's not feeling so weird about it anymore.

There's a sharp sting of nails and then Ryan's stroking over his ass, fingers next to his tongue and -  
"Oh Jesusmotherfuckingsonofabitch – if you don't –" He's not sure if he's asking Ryan to stop and get with fucking him already or just keep doing what he's doing.

It's an impossible choice.

Ryan makes it for him, another finger and his tongue darting in a hot point, insistent and infuriating and so fucking good he can't stop himself falling forward again, ass in the air and his face smashed into the pillow, can't even seem to catch a breath, it's almost too much and damn perfect all at once. And then Ryan's got a hand on Breckin's dick and his thumb pressing behind his balls and that's it, Breckin's fucking _done_.

It tears out of him, fast and hard, and Ryan's not letting up, doesn't matter that Breckin's begging him to stop, not stop, fucking - he can't - And it takes every ounce of strength he's got left to get a hand behind him to bat at Ryan's head to get him off, to hold him right there and Ryan's fucking _laughing_ and taking him apart all at once. Every part of him is screaming that it's too much, that Ryan's pushing him too far and yet he can't move except to rock back into it, take it.

He's coming again before he can even catch a breath, Ryan's fingers pressing in and right _there_ over and over, hand too tight round his dick, thumb riding him just right and Ryan is, without a doubt, going to kill him. 

"I can't –" Muffled by the pillow, his own breath too hot against his face, sweat stinging his eyes.

"Shhh – I got you, I got you."

And the stupid thing is, Breckin knows he does. Ryan always does. He lets all the tension out in a shaky breath then, relaxes his too tight hold on the comforter and Ryan's hair to settle back when Ryan kisses the small of his back and up, his fingers slipping free and his knee nudging up between Breckin's thighs.

"You killed me." And he should stop talking into the pillow, would if only he could move his head.  
Ryan kisses the back of his neck, rubs his chin across the top of his spine and Breckin can feel him smiling.

"Only just getting started too."

Breckin does not even have a single doubt that that's true.

"Asshole."

Ryan slaps his ass as he moves, gets himself up so his knees are bracketing Breckin's hips, his ass resting on Breckin's thighs. It's more luck than judgement that they landed closer to one side of the bed than the middle and Breckin can feel Ryan shift, hears him root through the side table drawer and no, Ryan really wasn't kidding when he said he's only just getting started.  
Doesn't mean Breckin's not gonna give him shit for it.

He lifts up, elbows pressed into the bed and his arms folded under his chest and looks over his shoulder, eyebrow raised and hair sticking in a sweaty mess to his face.

"Seriously?" 

Ryan just grins that fucking grin back at him, a condom between his teeth and a bottle of lube already open in his hand.

"I fucking hate you right now." 

Ryan lets the condom drop to fall in between Breckin's shoulder blades and tips the lube up to pour a puddle at the base of Breckin's spine. It's cold enough to get Breckin sucking in a breath, his back arching and that just makes Ryan laugh again. No one should be this held together in the middle of sex. Really.

Ryan drags his fingers through the lube, draws stupidly slow circles down over Breckin's ass, fingertips light and digging in by turns, his hips canting all the while and just five minutes ago Breckin was wrung out and ready to call it a night and now, well now, not so much. Okay so maybe Ryan being held together is a good thing cause Breckin's nowhere even close to it. 

"Want in you so bad right now –" As Ryan paints a wet line down with his thumbs, teasing. "Been thinking about it all fucking day man, you have no idea -" In and gone again too damn quick and Breckin's _this_ close to snapping.

"So quit fucking around –" He gets another sharp smack on the ass for that, heated sting of it calling up another groan he's not even going to bother trying to hide. So, it might've take him this long to work out he's kinda kinky.

And of course Ryan doesn't quit fucking around, keeps with the slow teasing presses inside, drag and twist and out again 'til Breckin doubts whether he'd know his own damn name if he was asked. He knows what Ryan's doing, knows it's almost impossible, there's no fucking way he's gonna come again anytime soon, but he also knows that's not gonna stop Ryan trying.

Breckin rolls his hips back, weight on his elbows to do it again a little harder, he's good to go, more than, has been since before Ryan got done with his fucking tongue and now he just wants, no he really _needs_ Ryan to quit making him wait for it. At this point he's not beyond begging for it.  
"Come _on_ -" Voice little more than a fucked out whine, not caring much about that as long as it gets him fucked and quite when he got so desperate for a dick in his ass is anyone's guess, but it's absolutely Ryan's fault. 

Ryan shifts, lays himself along Breckin's back, breath hot on the back of Breckin's neck as he kisses down to Breckin's ear. "Not yet –" And then his dick is riding the crease of Breckin's ass and Breckin's wondering just where he can hide a body in the middle of Toronto.

He turns his head, chin bumping Ryan's nose before he catches Ryan's lip in his mouth and bites down maybe a little too hard. "You – there's not even a word for what you are." 

"Awesome." And there's that blinding smile that gets Ryan every damn thing he'd ever want and Breckin can't help but smile back, but not before he's bending his knee back and up to kick Ryan's ass.

"Relax okay, I got you –" Another quick kiss and then Ryan's pushing himself back and Breckin lets out a long shaky breath, wills himself to calm the fuck down and mostly fails. Ryan's hands feel too good, his weight on the back of Breckin's thighs kinda perfect too and he'd have to be a monk to not want more, want it all.

Another breath and he lets his arms unfold, pushes up to get his hands on the headboard as he digs his knees into the mattress, circles his hips down and back again, getting what he can, even though it's never gonna be enough.

" _Jesus_ Look at you – fuck –" Little more than a whisper as Ryan drips another pool of lube onto Breckin's back, works his fingers through it and down and down and this time there's no teasing, two fingers and Ryan's dick pressed up behind Breckin's balls and he's pushing back into it and taking it and right back to desperate as quick as he can take a breath.

His fingertips are numb he's holding on to the headboard so tight, thighs aching, breath burning in his lungs and strung out before has nothing on now, riding a high so sweet there's nothing else but this and him and Ryan.

"Now – come on – want it, want you." He's not so proud that he's not writhing right there, ass up and back bowed, arms shaking with it.

"Yeah – shit okay, yeah –" And Ryan, _God_ , Ryan sounds about as wrecked as Breckin feels and yeah okay, he's maybe taking some kind of _'Yeah, fuck you too motherfucker'_ out of it, but it's awesome too. 

It stretches out, it's nothing more than a few seconds, he knows it is, but it's too long, empty and wanting and he catches himself whining again even as he hears the condom wrapper tearing and Ryan's breath catching low and shallow. Ryan's gonna give him shit for it later and he doesn't give a fuck.  
And then it doesn't matter 'cause Ryan's got hold of his wrists and he's pushing inside and Breckin's brain shorts out for what seems like the hundredth time in no time. Fucking Ryan.

Another pause, one he's grateful for this time, Ryan's hips digging in his ass and his fingers too tight round Breckin's wrists and he swears he can feel Ryan's heartbeat against his back.

"Oh _fuck_ -" Into the back of his neck and Ryan's shaking, Breckin knows he's only just holding back, waiting on Breckin to let him know it's okay to move and part of him wants to laugh it's so ridiculous, like they didn't do this last night and into the morning, like Breckin hasn't been wanting it all fucking day too.

"Move fucker –" Hips jerking back and his thighs falling wider, his shoulders bunching as he lifts his head again to nudge at Ryan's. "Come on, fuck me – you make me wait, I'll kick your ass –" He's shit talking, knows he is and Ryan snorts a laugh just about the same time as he starts to pull back.  
And yesterday was good, really fucking good, truth be told and yet this is, _Jesus_ this is something else. Ryan's sinuous above him, pressed all up along Breckin's back, breath hot on his neck, mumbling nonsense in his ear as he takes Breckin apart little piece by little piece. 

It's all Breckin can do to hold onto anything other than the need for more, his whole body clamouring for it, knows he's chanting Ryan's name on every breath, can't do a thing to stop it. 

His hands hurt from holding on so tight, thighs cramped and burning and his back aching and he pushes for more, grunts impatiently when Ryan just slows down, plants a messy smear of a kiss that misses Breckin's mouth, whispers _so fucking good_ against Breckin's lips. He could fight, push back, make Ryan just fucking give it to him, but he doesn't, cause there's that small part of him that wants it like this. Wants to feel like he's out of control, give it over to Ryan to do his worst, make him crazy and begging for more.

So he does. He lets go.

He uncurls his fingers from the headboard, turns his arms in Ryan's hold to get their palms together, fingers tangled. He turns his head as best he can, gets his mouth on Ryan's jaw all sweat and stubble and he's smiling now, teeth grazing as he pushes back to meet Ryan's hips, holding himself there 'til Ryan's balls deep and cursing, back down again with a wordless groan when Ryan pulls back, too fucking slow and really fucking perfect just the same. Fucking your best friend really is awesome.  
And then Ryan moves back and Breckin gets his whole world knocked sideways.

Ryan's back and almost gone and Breckin's practically scrabbling to get him to stay and then Ryan's got his arms round Breckin's chest and he's hauling him up, getting _deeper_ , getting right fucking _there_ , Breckin's thighs stretched wide over Ryan's and he was sure there was no way he was gonna come again and now – now, Ryan's not even gonna have to touch him. 

Doesn't mean that Ryan's not gonna touch him. Ryan gets a hand on his dick, that wicked twist of his wrist again, press of his thumb just right, fucking _playing_ him. "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck _fuck_ " And Breckin never claimed to be anything close to eloquent when he's getting fucked and now just seals the deal.

He reaches round, gets his hands on Ryan's ass and holds on for dear fucking life, rocks back and rolls his hips forward over and again, so damn close again he's beginning to wonder if Ryan's got some kind of magical sex thing going on. Cause how the hell Ryan's managed to hold on this long is a fucking miracle all on its own.

"Next time _oh fuck_ – doing this so I can see -" Ryan's got his face pressed to Breckin's shoulder, mouth leaving marks Breckin knows he'll search out tomorrow. Breckin digs his nails in Ryan's ass in reply, tips his head back to rest on the top of Ryan's and he can't – there's no way he's gonna last another second.

And Ryan's got him, holds him through it and he's gonna have to stop thinking _best orgasm ever_ when they do this cause there's no benchmark for this. It's skating on too much, body tipping into overload, brain threatening to shut down and he knows he's holding on too tight, leaving bruises but he can't let go.

"That's it, fuck _fuck_ -" Ryan's bite stings and then his hips are stuttering and he's letting go, letting Breckin fall forward only to grab his hips and yank him back, Ryan's hips a messy rhythm that knocks Breckin's shoulders into the mattress and his knees up the bed. Ryan's hands are slipping on Breckin's hips, knees jammed up tight against his thighs when Ryan freezes, curls his fingers tighter and lets out a moaned curse as he comes and collapses on Breckin's back.

There's a long moment where neither of them can do anything but try to breathe, can't even think about trying to move, doesn't matter that Ryan's fucking heavy on Breckin's back and Breckin's legs have gone numb from being folded up like a pretzel.

"Holy fucking shit." More of a grunt than real words, but that's pretty much all he's got right now.

"Yeah – getting pretty good at that ain't we?"

"Meant, get your fat ass off me." 

Ryan's laughing as he falls off to one side, holding onto Breckin as he goes, staying right up close and inside as he noses up through the back of Breckin's very sweaty hair.

"Dude, are we _spooning_?" And okay so he's leaning back into it, tangling his fingers with Ryan's while he's at it, but he's completely fucked out, there's no way moving is happening any time, well, ever really.

"Shut up fucker." And Ryan just holds on tighter, like maybe he thinks Breckin would even think about pulling away.

When Breckin wakes up this time it's still dark outside and he's not on his own, his ass is sore and he really stinks, but he's got a smile on his face and Ryan tucked under his arm drawing patterns on his belly. He figures he could get used to this.

Ryan scrubs his head on Breckin's shoulder, yawns loud and wide and kisses just above his nipple before he pushes himself up on an elbow for a quick kiss, and he looks completely _fucked_. Breckin knows how that feels.

"Time's it?" He's got pillow creases on his face and his hair's all pasted to one side of his head and sticking out the other and Breckin doesn't think twice about tugging his fingers through it.

"Still dark." It's Breckin's turn to yawn now, jaw cracking with it as he stretches out before grabbing Ryan to lie down again. "It smells like sex in here."

"Duh." Ryan digs his fingers just under Breckin's ribs and throws his leg over Breckin's thighs and there's absolutely no mistaking that hard press right there against his hip.

"Great, you're horny and I'm starving. And slightly concerned all we seem to do is eat and fuck."

"And work together. It's pretty cool huh?" And then Ryan's climbing up over Breckin, kneeing his thighs apart to rest between them, elbows beside his ribs and hands up under his back. He kisses Breckin, morning breath be damned, and he's smiling when he pulls back. 

"Shower, food and fuck me before we have to go to work. In that order, cause we fucking stink, man."

Ryan rolls them over, pushes Breckin off him to kick at the comforter, get up and head for the bathroom. Breckin does not hide the fact that he's checking out Ryan's ass as he goes.

They go back to work, start going out with the guys again afterwards and the studio stops paying for two hotel rooms when they just move all of Breckin's shit into Ryan's suite.

A couple days ago, Breckin would've been surprised by how much stuff just doesn't change. Apart from all the sex he's getting. They work, they hang out, talk shit to each other and carry on being them. Breckin's not sure when he stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop, stopped thinking and analyzing and just let them be. It doesn't need looking at, it's good as it is and he's happy, was before this came along, will be if and when it's run its course.

And Breckin doesn't think too hard on the fact that he'll be done in a few days and heading home. Ryan's got maybe another two weeks after Breckin's done and then – well, Breckin doesn't know what then, but it's him and Ryan, easy doesn't even cover what they are, so he knows it'll be cool. 

And if he catches himself smiling at that, well, he can blame Ryan for fucking the stupid out of him.


	5. And Then There Are The Re-Shoots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In New York for re-shoots.

The screen goes black and the lights come up and no one says a word. It's quiet for too long, 'til someone _Salma_ coughs and they all turn in their seats and look at Mark.

"I know." Mark's face says it all

"That was -" Ryan's frowning and looking between Mark and Lee and back to the now blank screen.

"I _know_."

They'd all watched the rough cut months back at Mark's; beer and popcorn and Salma between him and Ryan with a hand on each of their knees and a grin on her face. It'd been a pretty cool night, all of them happy with what they'd done, ready to move on. This - it's not what they filmed, it's sure as shit not what Mark wrote, not what they worked on and kinda fell in love with by the time they were done. And it's why they all got called for re-shoots just three months before it's due to go on release.

Marks hands out pages to each of them. "Hair and make-up Monday at nine, set-ups are pretty much done, so you all just need to turn up and we can get this in the can. It's a mess, I know it is and I'm sorry, but we'll get it back. Okay?"

Salma stands, reaches out one hand to Ryan, the other to Breckin and pulls. "Come on, the studio owes us dinner and several obscenely expensive bottles of wine."

They end up somewhere out of the way; small and kinda perfect, a little booth in the corner, their food covering the table family style and the shit from this afternoon gets left behind catching up. It's good, they should've done it before and not waited 'til the studio fucked with their movie. Breckin has a feeling none of them is gonna much like how it's turning out. But for now, he's having a good time and not just 'cause Ryan's got his boot off and has his foot pressing right against Breckin's crotch. It's mildly distracting in a _'can't think of anything else'_ kind of way and he has to stop himself from riding up into it or the rest of the place is gonna be getting a free porn show.

Of course, this would be when Salma does her psychic thing, just as Breckin's got a mouthful of really good veal parmesan.

"Do you two ever come up for air?" She's smiling, head resting in her hands as she looks from Ryan to Breckin and back again, and as long as they've been doing this, he _still_ blushes, almost chokes on his food. And Ryan just barks out a laugh and wiggles his toes. 

"Didn't think so." 

And Ryan takes getting called on it reason enough to scoot down in his seat some more, get his toes right between Breckin's thighs and up under his balls and there's not a chance in hell Breckin's gonna make it through dessert with anything like any dignity left.  
"Motherfucker," through clenched teeth. Breckin's whole face is on fire now and he'd almost forgotten how much help Salma isn't when Ryan's like this. Next time they all get dinner together, they're getting room service. 

"I hate you both. Seriously."

It's something of a miracle that Breckin makes it to dessert and coffee without disappearing under the table to suck Ryan off, Salma and a room full of people be damned, but it's a close call and really, they've been doing this for close on a year and a half now and being in the same room as Ryan is still fucking impossible. It's like some kind of Pavlovian response or something. Maybe he needs aversion therapy, or a smack upside the head. Or just head. And okay that's not helping at all.

"... and I'll get the check, okay?" And he should really remember to listen while he's thinking about stuff he shouldn't be thinking about at dinner.

"Sorry, what?" Ryan's already up out of his seat and stamping his boot back on and Breckin's got the feeling he missed something kinda important.

"You two go 'freshen up' and I'll get the check, okay?" Stage whisper and air quotes totally unnecessary, but she does them anyway.

The silverware rattles on the table when Breckin drops his head to cover the fact he's blushing _again_ and then Ryan's grabbing his hand and Salma's laughing and shooing them away and he really should look into getting a whole new set of friends. Ryan doesn't seem to care enough to keep back any sort of distance; all up close and almost plastered to Breckin's back as they head for the rest room and he's pretty sure at some point they'll get over the need to get each other off all the time. Doesn't matter that he's been telling himself, and Ryan, that for a while now and it's just not happening.

Ryan's hand's down the front of his jeans before the door's even closed behind them. "Stall." Even as he's pushing Breckin toward the nearest stall, mouth just behind Breckin's ear and palm pressing down just right.

It's not bad as far as rest rooms go, not that Breckin's paying it much mind when Ryan's got him backed up against the wall, all up in his space, just like always, just like they didn't - don't - do this all the damn time, biting on his neck and going for his zipper.

"Think I can get you to come in your pants? Just like this?" Ryan's shit talking again and Breckin loves every second of it.

"Shut up and touch me, asshole." And Ryan does, hand too tight round his dick, thumb digging in his belly as he tugs, twists his wrist just so, just how he knows Breckin likes it. And it takes Breckin more than a moment to catch on, catch up, fighting with belt and zipper to get his hand wrapped around Ryan, get his teeth hard in Ryan's lip, bring out that sweet sound he wants.  
"Yeah - come on, do it - fuck!" They're too loud, can hear it echoing off the tile, anyone who walked in right now would _know_ and that little spike right there in the middle of his chest just thinking about that - well he'll file that with the rest of the _'kinks Breckin didn't know he had before Ryan'_ box. 

There's nothing but air between them, Ryan's breath smells like mint and coffee, his hands rough and warm and both of them find a rhythm; frantic and careless, reaching to take an edge off that never really goes away. Ryan presses closer, chest to hip and his thigh jammed up between Breckin's as he gets his hand 'round both of them, drags his thumbnail over the head of Breckin's dick and kisses him hard to shut him up. There's no way this is gonna be anything other than a quick hand job in a rest room stall, no way Breckin would want it to be anything else right now. This is just the pre-show warm up, they both know that, getting off to get off cause they drive each other nuts and that's not something that's gonna change anytime soon.

Breckin's up on his tip toes, fingers leaving bruises on Ryan's hips right next to the teeth marks that have barely faded, forehead on Ryan's shoulder and mouth on Ryan's collarbone. He's just about holding it together enough to keep his knees from giving out from under him and he's laughing with one breath, cursing with the next as Ryan takes him apart just like always. He's given up thinking it couldn't get any better and just goes with it now and it's fucking awesome every time.

"Come _on_ -" Not at all quiet and not caring any, working his hips up and back, fucking himself into Ryan's fist. More impatient with every breath and dropping a hand down between them to get his hand ‘round Ryan cause he can't wait any longer and sometimes Ryan's too much of a fucking tease. He rears up to kiss Ryan; messy and hard, bites on his lip as he jacks impossibly harder, chasing right up to the edge and toppling right over with a loud grunt he can't hold back.

"Sexy -" A huffed out laugh and Ryan's right there with him, breathless and panting against Breckin's mouth as he rides it out, slower now, but not stopping, neither of them ever really willing to 'til it gets to be too much and they _have to_. Or when someone's banging on the door. Shit.

"I am not getting a cab on my own, so you two, zip it up and let's go!" 

Their pants are a mess, Breckin's sweater barely covers the shot Ryan managed to get right on his pocket and there's not a chance that Ryan's jacket's gonna do much for him either. And standing under the dryer just makes the whole restroom smell even more like two guys jacked off in there. This is why fucking around in bathrooms, while awesome, is never really that good of an idea. The only thing for it is to make a run for it.

Salma's waiting out front for them, eyebrow raised when she sees the pair of them and Breckin can't help but reach up and check for bad hair, he definitely does not look down to where his sweater is pulled down too tight, or at how Ryan's jacket is zipped all the way up to his chin. Yeah, they totally look like they did it in a bathroom. Awesome.

"Hotel or bar?" And the way Salma's saying it sounds like she already knows it's gonna be the hotel and Breckin just grins at her and sticks his hand out for the passing cab.  
"Mini bar."

 

~~~~~~

 

The first thing Breckin notices when he wakes up is that he's too hot. The second is that he has a face full of hair that is very much _not_ curly, but long and sweet smelling. 

_Okay._

He cracks open one eye and then the other, looks over Salma's head to see Ryan sprawled out on his front taking up most of the bed, his boot hanging half off his foot and dangling off the edge of the bed.

Right. Mini bar.

He's smiling then as he scoots down a little, gets out from half under Salma and sees the mess of tiny bottles and mini candy bar wrappers scattered across the floor, they're going to feel like shit when they wake up. He leaves them to it, toeing bottles and wrappers out of the way as he heads to the bathroom and for the first morning in a long time, he doesn't look like he's been rode hard and put up wet. In fact he looks annoyingly perky. 

Last night wasn't what he'd had in mind when he'd got in yesterday, considerably less sex for starters, and he hadn't imagined the three of them passing out in the same bed after laughing so hard his sides hurt, Ryan and Salma flipping a coin over who got the last little bottle of Jack and who got the mint liqueur. Breckin would absolutely pay to see the face Ryan pulled again when he drank the liqueur.

He orders breakfast and takes a piss, brushes his teeth in the shower, ignoring how good his hand feels on his dick as he washes up, sings a little too loud as he scrubs shampoo through his hair, feeling good about today even though Ryan's gonna feel like shit for most of it and he'll most likely be playing nurse maid. He grabs a robe instead of just wandering out in a towel like always, and thinks nothing of making a running jump for the bed, it's not his fault they drank the mini bar dry after all. Ryan grunts as Breckin lands on his back and Salma says something not very nice about his parentage in Spanish as she swats his ass.

"Good Morning!" And okay he might be taking a little too much pleasure in how bad they're obviously feeling.

"Fuck off."

"Aw now, don't be like that honey, we have a guest remember."

"Her fault, she can fuck off too." Ryan gets a pillow to the back of the head for that and then Salma's sitting up, hair all this way and that, making a face like something died in her mouth in the night. 

"Urgh."

"Asprin? Juice? Water?"

"Shotgun. Now."

Breckin pats Ryan's ass, crawls up between them to kiss the top of Salma's head and gets himself settled with his back to the headboard and his feet crossed at the ankles. He might be feeling a little smug right now.

"How about breakfast instead?" He wraps his arm around her, pulls her close.

"I love you." Salma beams at him then, kisses his cheek and gets up, mostly failing to get her clothes looking like she didn't just sleep in them as she heads to the bathroom.

When the door closes behind her, Breckin rolls over on top of Ryan, gets his hands up under Ryan's shirt and goes for that place just under his ribs and it's for no other reason than it's annoying and he's awake and Ryan's only kinda half way there. He's horny in that abstract way he always is around Ryan, could go for it right now, knows they don't have time, so he'll wait. And as impatient as they both are, it's not something they can't do, just more likely don't want to.

"You smell like road kill."

He's on his back before he's even done scratching his nails over Ryan's ribs, Ryan's hands in his hair and Ryan's spectacularly foul morning-after breath right in his face. 

"I really hate you."

"Because I held you down and poured that green shit down your throat, right?"

Ryan's head drops down to rest on Breckin's shoulder, his voice muffled against the robe. "And there was no sex. I blame Salma."

Breckin's patting the top of Ryan's head when Salma comes out of the bathroom; the other robe wrapped tightly, a towel on her head and shaking the crinkles out of her clothes.

"Your boy still feel like shit?"   
"It's all your fault for taking the last of the Jack." He gets the finger for that, a kiss blown in the air as she turns to get the door and all of them ignore the barely hidden smile the room service guy's got on his face as she signs for the food. Breckin would be more worried about 'shock threesome!' headlines if he thought for a second the guy knew who any of them were.

Ryan finally makes it out of bed when Breckin waves a plate of bacon under his nose, showers after shovelling most of the eggs and a whole pot of coffee down, comes out of the bathroom half an hour later, shirtless, track pants hanging low on his hips and feet bare and Breckin's mouth goes a little dry. He's looking less like he lost a fight with a Mack truck, but still a little green and Breckin just _wants_. There’s no way Salma can miss the way Breckin's a little distracted, it'd be hard to, the way he's sitting there, a piece of toast halfway to his half open mouth. 

"And there's my cue to exit stage right." Stage right being the bathroom, her clothes bundled up under one arm, a cup of coffee in the other hand and a knowing smile on her lips. "I'll be out of your hair in five." She's laughing as the door closes behind her and neither Breckin nor Ryan try to persuade her otherwise.

She kisses them as she leaves, smile lighting up her whole face as she smacks Ryan's ass and pinches Breckin's cheek, promises brunch on Sunday if they can haul their asses out of bed and then she's gone. The door's barely closed behind her before Breckin's on Ryan, crowding him against the door and tugging at his pants to get his hand inside, no teasing, not even thinking about taking his time. He pushes them down with his other hand as he gets his fist round Ryan's dick, fucks his tongue into Ryan's mouth and bites his lip as he pulls back.

" _Jesus_ -" Ryan looks a little shell shocked and Breckin can't help the smug grin that's curving his mouth at that.

"As fun as last night was?" As he noses up under Ryan's jaw, drags his lips across stubble just to feel the tingle. "Not getting you naked really sucked ass, man." A quick nip of teeth and then he's pulling away, not making a show of taking off his robe and yanking Ryan's pants down the rest of the way, wanting quick over anything else. 

He walks backwards towards the bed, dragging Ryan with him, hands never resting anywhere for long, hips to arms and round to Ryan's ass and okay he might spend a little longer there than anywhere else, truth be told. The bed's still messed up from this morning; sheets and comforter half on the floor, pillows all bunched up against the headboard, no one looking at it would think anything other than _sex_ and it's a damn shame it's taken this long. 

Breckin stops when his legs hit the bed, drops his hands to rest at his sides and looks up at Ryan, head cocked to one side, lip caught in his teeth as he takes his fill, and he'll be the first one to admit it's something he's never gonna hide. It doesn't hurt that he knows Ryan gets something out of him doing it too. And okay, it's been time and some change since they got into this, there's been no freak out, no second guessing, no worries at all. Just him and Ryan and probably the best sex Breckin's ever had in his entire life. They've gotten used to it, taken time to take time, still fuck each other stupid 'cause they can and it feels good, but that's not all they are and it's not all they have.   
"Doin' it again." Ryan's smiling at him even as he's calling him on the thinking thing and after everything, it's still not something he knows how to stop doing, okay with it mostly when it's them he's thinking about and it's this good.

Breckin just smiles, bright and clear, nothing he can say to that 'cause it's true and Ryan knows. Instead he pulls Ryan right down on top of him as he falls back and wraps his legs tight around Ryan's hips and his hands around Ryan's neck, rolls his hips up, intent clear. He'd kinda had plans about not wanting to hang around anymore than they already have this morning, plans he's throwing away even as his mouth finds Ryan's, his heels hard against Ryan's ass, fingers carding up through Ryan's hair to get a handful. And Ryan's giving just as much in return, hands hard on Breckin’s shoulders, thumbs drawing up from collarbones to Adam’s apple and back again. And Breckin lets himself get a little lost, hands skating down Ryan's back to his ass, fingers dipping into the waistband of his pants, up again to trace the line of his spine, fingertips fitting to his ribs and holding on. Could stay like this for hours, Ryan's weight holding him down, the hard line of Ryan's dick pressed to his hip and Ryan's breath on his face as he kisses him. 

"Want you to fuck me so much right now," little more than a whisper into the next kiss and then Ryan's rolling them over, hands up over Breckin's back and down to grab at his ass to pull him closer.

"Yeah - yeah okay." And as much as Breckin doesn't want to move, he wants to _see_ , pulls himself back with a groan so he can do just that, and then he's kneeling almost at the end of the bed, hands restless over Ryan's skin before they settle on the insides of Ryan's knees and _push_.

"Holy shit -" Breckin's turn to be a little in awe now, never really ready, even after everything, for how fucking gorgeous Ryan looks like this, hands tucked up under his head, his dick hard against his belly and his breathing shot to shit as he looks back, want clear on his face. And it's all for him, because of him. 

He crawls up between Ryan's thighs, taking his time, soft hairs tickling his lips, skin warm under his fingertips as he spreads Ryan wider, traces a line with his tongue from the inside of his knee to the crease of his thigh, whispers nonsense into Ryan's skin as he kisses over his hip and across his belly. So slow he can feel the muscles in Ryan's belly jump with every brush of his lips, hears him curse when he nips with his teeth and digs his fingers into Ryan's thighs.

"Like this okay?" Just above Ryan's navel before he's scooting back a little, hissing a breath against Ryan's hip when his dick drags along rumpled sheets. _Jesus_. "Stay just like this." And then he's taking Ryan in, as much as he can in one go, hand round the rest and sucking in a breath through his nose before he goes that much deeper, cutting off his air for a second before he has to pull back. Does it again and once more, throat raw with it and jaw already aching, tongue flicking out and down, moving lower 'til he can nose at Ryan's balls and suck at the crease of his thigh, leave his mark. Lower to bite the inside of Ryan's thigh, tiny nips that leave a chain of red down to his knee, chasing each one with the tip of his tongue and the press of his fingers, wants to find them there in the morning, do it all over again then too.

Ryan's got his hands in Breckin's hair, tugging hard enough to sting. "Can't, you gotta -" And Breckin's not gotta to do a damn thing except this and he shakes his head, rubs stubble over too soft skin and gets back to taking his damn time. And it's not like he doesn't already know Ryan's skin as well as he knows the back of his own hand, but this is different somehow. Neither of them has ever been that good with taking their time, too impatient or horny or both for that, but now Breckin wants to, he's not sure what it means and he's not going to think about it with anything more than a glancing _'huh, okay'_ for now.

And for once Ryan's quiet, his fingers loose in Breckin's hair now, carding through and back again, his breath coming fast and shallow. Breckin's knows he's watching, smiles as he kisses the dip just by Ryan's hip, his fingers drawing circles over Ryan's belly. Ryan's skin is warm and soap and salt, soft under his lips as he dips his tongue into Ryan's navel, bites and moves on, through the sticky sweet salt on Ryan's belly, blunt nails tracing over Ryan's ribs to fit his fingers between, to feel the rise of them with every breath.

Ryan's fingers tighten in Breckin's hair again when his mouth finds Ryan's nipple, tongue soft and teeth sharp, drawing it into his mouth 'til it's hard and sensitive, thumbing across the wetness as he drags his lips across soft hairs that'll be gone come Monday, to the other. And Ryan's hard against his belly, wet against his skin and Breckin moves into the press of it, spreads his knees wide and grinds his hips down as he pinches and bites and he's never gonna deny that he's getting off on Ryan calling him a motherfucking teasing asshole. Sure as he knows his own name there'll be payback later and he sucks just that little bit harder just to make damn sure of it. Ryan's grip gets painful, his nails digging into Breckin's scalp, heels hard on the small of Breckin's back, his hips riding up and the sounds he's making right now - fuck - Breckin just wants more and it all and could do this for fucking hours just to hear it some more.

"If you don't -" Words cut off in a noise that'd be funny if they weren't both so strung out right now when Breckin sucks back and off to lick up to Ryan's collar bone.

"You'll what?" Breckin's smile is wicked, he knows it is, knows he's more than likely got another five maybe ten before Ryan snaps, knows he's gonna take it right to the edge of that and maybe a little bit beyond. Breckin bites down, hard enough to sting, sucks a bruise right there, not caring about the bitching Ryan'll get from make-up, digs his fingers into Ryan's hips as he rears up to take Ryan's mouth with a kiss that leaves them both breathless. He's waited so long, wanted so much and it's almost like he can't decide what to do next, where to go, how to _take_. Ryan doesn't seem to have the same problem.

"Fuck me - right now, or I swear to God I will cut it off and beat you to death with it." And Breckin can't help it, but he loves it when Ryan gets all pissy. Loves that Ryan's scowling at Breckin even as he's grabbing to get him closer, his hips tipping up in an obscene roll, as his fingers dig into Breckin's shoulder and ass, as his heel knocks into the back of Breckin's thigh. "Now." Bitten into Breckin's lip and as much as he wanted to push, wanted to see just what it'd take, Breckin can't resist and Ryan fucking _knows_ that he can't.

Sometimes fucking your best friend can be stupidly predictable like that.

Breckin can't reach the night stand without pulling back, not that he wants to anyway and Ryan's not looking likely to let him go anytime soon either, if the fresh set of bruises he's got in his ass are anything to go by, so it's something of a feat of engineering and Breckin's fucking awesome thigh strength, even if he does say so himself, that gets them rolling over again, just stopping short of Ryan's head hitting the nightstand. And Ryan's smiling again, more laughing really, the both of them all tangled up, legs and arms and Breckin's hair through Ryan's fingers.

"Now?" And there's less of the bite in Ryan's words now, but no less need though and like always Breckin can't say no. He gave up wondering just why that is too long ago to remember.

"Now." A promise as Breckin reaches for the night stand drawer, rooting through to find what he needs and all the while kissing Ryan cause there's not much besides the obvious he likes to do more. Still kissing Ryan as he thumbs open the lube and he's shaking, the lube spilling cold over his fingers, his palm and the pillow; a mess Ryan'll bitch about rolling over onto later, no doubt.

He sweeps his tongue over Ryan's lip as he lifts up, pushes his hand between them, the heel of his thumb riding the crease of Ryan's thigh, his fingers dipping lower, slow careful circles that have Ryan sucking in a breath, stealing the air they're sharing and Breckin lets his eyes close then, feels rather than sees as he presses inside. It's awkward like this, barely an inch between them and just about damn perfect with it, Ryan's breath on his face, his smile against Breckin's lips and he just lets that moment be for a second longer before he's pressing deeper, knees wide, Ryan's thighs wider, rocking up and back, warmth smearing wet on their bellies and fuck it's _good_ and not for the first time Breckin gets kinda lost in it, drops to lay kisses along Ryan's jaw to that place just by his ear, gets his mouth over Ryan's pulse and sucks.

And he's not surprised in the least that Ryan calls him on it.

"Now means today." Ryan's heel grinding into the back of Breckin's thigh, his fingers hard in Breckin's ass, you know, just so he gets the message.

"I'm getting there -"

"And I wanna get there sometime soon." As he rides down onto Breckin's fingers, thighs tight around Breckin's hips.

Breckin looks up then, presses a quick kiss to Ryan's chin, winks and smiles as he brushes his thumb down over Ryan's balls, presses another finger alongside the first, slow and deep, twists and pulls back, kisses Ryan just as slow, just as deep. And Ryan kinda relaxes into it, still holding on tight, fingers leaving bruises and tugging on his hair, but lets himself go like Breckin's seen a hundred times before, letting Breckin get him there.

" _Finally_ ," into Ryan's mouth, tongue tracing dip just below his lip and still smiling 'cause it's impossible not to.

"Fuck you." With another hard tug on Breckin's hair, a sucking bite on his lip as Breckin pulls away just enough to look. And he's said it before, thought it more times than he can remember but he'll keep on cause it's nothing but the bare honest truth, Ryan's fucking gorgeous like this and Breckin just wants it all.

He grinds his hips down, trapping his arm between them as he twists his fingers, one more now and fucking hell he wants to feel that around him, push inside and take and take and he can't hardly breathe from it, hips restless, dick dragging wet against Ryan's and fuck _fuck_ he can't - he has to –

"Don't fucking move."

Breckin reaches out blindly for the condom, fingers scrabbling over the sheets, almost hysterical laugh bubbling up when he finally gets hold of it and then he's up on his knees, fingers free and tearing at the wrapper with his teeth. His hands are shaking; the wrapper slipping before he can get it open and the universe hates him right now. Seriously.

"Leave it - just you, okay?"

And Breckin's brain shorts out. 

They'd talked about this, of course they have, if you count _'we're both clear so we should, you know'_ as Ryan kicked Breckin's ass at Nintendo as talking about it. And Breckin's thought about it, of course he has, it's just - well _damn_.

"Okay." And if his hands were shaking before, it's nothing on now and he might be a little brain dead 'cause for the life of him he can't seem to remember how to move. And he must have that dumb fuck look on his face 'cause Ryan's laughing at him again.

Ryan's got his feet hooked behind Breckin's knees and his hands on Breckin's arm before Breckin can think any more on it, pulling him down and wrapping him all up close, kissing his jaw, his cheek and over his eyes, hands drifting down to dig fingers into his ass and Breckin's laughing before he can think about it, kissing back as he reaches between them. Can't help but hiss in a breath when he gets a hand on himself, head dipping to rest on Ryan's shoulder as he knees Ryan's thighs wide, mouth on Ryan's collar bone as he drags his thumb over the head of his dick, slicks up real quick and then he's pushing inside.

"Oh God."

It's - okay so he doesn't even have words for how it is, apart from really fucking awesome and he'd kinda knew that it would be, of course he did, but this - this is - and he really does need to stop thinking about how good it is and _move _cause Ryan's getting impatient under him, palm slapping his ass hard enough to sting, knocking him out of it.__

"Just fucking move." 

And like always Breckin can't refuse, not that he could even if he tried and he's pulling back, lifting his head to watch Ryan watching him and losing himself a little in the feel of Ryan around him, his breath hot on Breckin's face, his heel heavy on the small of Breckin's back. Breckin tucks his hands up under Ryan's back and holds onto his shoulders, kisses him long and slow and deep, hips grinding in a slow dirty circle he knows drives Ryan nuts and that gets him another slap on the ass and a bite to his lip. And Ryan can go fuck himself cause this is the first time they've done this and Breckin'll damned if he's gonna rush it. 

Then again, his body like always seems to be having other ideas.

Breckin's hips stutter, his breath a wrecked mess of useless and it feels like every part of him is fighting against taking it slow, Ryan right there with it in some sort of unspoken conspiracy when he writhes up to meet Breckin, holds on so fucking tight there's not even air between them, his dick so fucking hard against Breckin's belly and his nails leaving crescents in his skin. They're kissing, kinda; more miss than hit right now, nonsense shared in the breath between them and Ryan's not taken his eyes off Breckin for one second. He should be used to it by now, it's not anything new, but it still hits him hard, how Ryan looks at him, everything right fucking there for Breckin to see. And he's useless against it and Ryan's a fucker 'cause he knows that as well as Breckin does.

"Come on - "and he bites Breckin's lip, sweeps his tongue over and in, hot and wet and perfect and Breckin moans into it, sucks hard on Ryan's tongue and rolls his hips down slow.

"Yeah," as he pulls back, a quick press of his lips and then he's uncurling cramped up fingers from Ryan's shoulder and shoving a hand between them, not caring that there's barely room, or that his nails will likely leave marks on Ryan's belly, the need to get Ryan there with him rushing up fast, the pure fucking _want_ making anything else next to impossible.

"That's - fuck _fuck_ \- that's it -" As Breckin's hand closes tight, wrist twisting, thumb pressing just how he knows Ryan likes it. And Ryan's back fucking bows off the bed, near taking Breckin with him as he comes and it's too much, almost like Breckin wasn't expecting it, which is stupid, but still. 

Breckin grunts, hips faltering, breath knocked out if him as he follows and, "Jesusfucking _Christ_!" He collapses, every part of him too heavy to hold up on shaking arms, laughing as his head bumps Ryan's chin, cursing when Ryan's whole damn body clamps down on his like a vice and at some point he'd like to be able to catch a breath but he's not holding out for that any time soon.

He kinda drifts for a while, post-sex fugue hitting him like a freight train, Ryan's hands all over his back, his face buried in Ryan's neck, nose pressed to the pulse point and he's vaguely aware of it getting back to normal, of the soft snort when Ryan's about ready to drift off to sleep. It's a wrench to move, but Ryan won't thank him later if they fall asleep like that and to be fair, they're both really kinda gross.

"Hey."

"Sleeping."

"Not with my dick in your ass."

"You are not my favourite person right now." But Ryan still moves, lets his legs fall, his feet hitting the mattress with a thud as he smacks Breckin's ass. "So get your dick out my ass and let me sleep."

Breckin pats the side of Ryan's face maybe a little too hard and leans back, lets himself slip free to kneel back. He just rests there a moment, knees to the insides of Ryan's thighs and his fingers drawing through the mess on Ryan's belly. Ryan twitches, bats at Breckin's hand but nothing more than that and Breckin's not trying all that hard to hold back a laugh when his hand dropping lower gets Ryan kicking at him and telling him to fuck off.

"Go get me a wash cloth."

"You're a fucking miserable lay, you know that right?" Even as he's crawling backwards off the end of the bed, hand lingering on Ryan's ankle as his feet hit the floor and he absolutely does not turn around 'til he gets to the bathroom door.

He washes up real quick, rinses off the cloth under the hot tap and doesn't over think the whole 'no condom' and what that might mean thing at all as he fills a glass with water, drinks it down and refills it for Ryan. Might've done not so long ago, might even a little down the line, you know when they can get themselves in a room on their own and _not_ have to fuck the second the door's closed, but he doesn't right now, just wrings out the cloth, hooks the door open with his foot as he hits the light switch and heads back out. 

The cloth's probably cold when it hits Ryan's junk, if the hissed _motherfuckingsonofabitch_ is anything to go by, but then he's on the bed and running it all over and down and more than likely not doing much as far as clean up goes, but he can cop a feel while he's there, so...

"I still don't like you much." Even as Ryan's curling onto his side and pulling Breckin with him until they're all wrapped up in each other again and Breckin would call him on the cuddling thing if he wasn't just as fucked out, just as tired and it can wait 'til they wake up again anyhow.

 

~~~~~~

 

It's still light when Breckin wakes up, his face pressed to Ryan's armpit and his hand loose over Ryan's dick. He smiles, stays right where he is 'til the need to piss gets him fidgeting and Ryan's shifting under him with a grumble about his sore ass. 

They fuck around in the shower some, Ryan driving him nuts with his hands and his mouth, more than likely revenge for earlier but Breckin doesn't care, just returns the favour with a quick wicked hand job and a smack to Ryan's ass. It's easy and comfortable and they don't get to do this all that often; just laze a day away and come Monday get paid to spend the day together and fuck the night away, so Breckin's gonna make the most of it. They sleep too, look over the pages they got yesterday and fuck around when they're not doing anything else, ordering room service when Ryan declares he's too damn tired to go out to eat. 

"This is bullshit." Ryan's pages land on Breckin's feet where they're resting in Ryan's lap.

"Maybe it'll be less bullshit when they glue it all together." Breckin doesn't even sound like he's that convinced himself. And the look Ryan's giving him right now, him either. "Yeah okay." He reaches for one of the left over fries from dinner and it's cold and soggy, but he eats it anyway. "But it's what we gotta do, so-"

He's not happy about it either, the scenes making little to no sense read like this, no context or framing and it stinks that they don't get to see where they're going or how the hell they're going to fit, won't even see the final print 'til it's ready to go out for distribution and Breckin's got that sinking feeling in his gut, like he always does when he knows something is gonna suck and there's fuck all he can do about it cause he's already been paid and this is in his contract and he's not Brad fucking Pitt. He's just hoping it's not gonna end up going straight to VHS. 

That feeling gets worse when they roll up on Monday morning and Breckin gets taken off to make-up to get fitted for a hairpiece. He gets to spend time with some of his favourite people and this movie is hands down one of the most fun he's worked on because of that, and not just cause it's Ryan and they're - well - buddies. But this part of it - this part is seriously pissing him off and he fucking _loves_ New York and it's all looking like a huge steaming pile of horseshit. The day doesn't get much better as it goes along, Ryan's mood mirroring his own and he doesn't think in all the time they've know each other that he's seen Ryan this pissy over a job and him not being able to do a damn thing about it cause they're on the same job and they feel the same way. 

One or the other of them fucks up one take or another; taking too long to get the blocking right, stumbling over their lines like they just got the damn - no wait, they _did_ just get the damn pages, but it doesn't matter, they're better than that and everyone, including them, knows that. And the between-takes five minute 'coffee break' hand job they promised themselves leaves Breckin more frustrated not less. This really isn't what he had in mind. At all.

For the first time in a long time, neither of them wants to do much more than sleep when they get back to the hotel, so that's what they do.

"This sucks."

They're on set between takes, Ryan's lying on a couch against the wall and Breckin's propping up a fake doorway next to it. His hairpiece is itchy, his head hot under the damn lights and today's not shaping up to be any better than yesterday was. Everyone's the same, any cohesion they all had before gone, lost in the mess of whatever passes for the re-writes. And it's not that it's bad writing - it's Mark - it's just that it's not what Mark wanted, not what they all signed up for and it's not gonna look anything like it's supposed to when it finally gets out there. They all fucking know that and there's not a damn thing any of them can do about it. Mark included. Awesome.

"Mark's having a _'they ruined my movie'_ wrap party. So I don't think it's just us man." Ryan sits up, runs his hands back through his hair before he nudges his elbow into Breckin's thigh. "Fuck it - let's just get it done and get on home and pretend like this week never happened okay?"

The call bell goes off and Breckin puts on his game face, lets the hair guy fiddle with the damn wig one more time and then he's back to work.

The studio sets up interviews for that night, separate rooms and lines of reporters, each of them getting their couple of minutes to ask the same questions over and over, Breckin hanging back to watch Ryan turn on that smile while he spins a line of bullshit Breckin can't help but snort at. He almost doesn't catch the way Ryan's looking at him before he calls over the PA who drew the short straw and hands her something while he points over at Breckin in the corner. Breckin shoots Ryan a look, all eyebrows and a quirked smile but Ryan's looking the other way, his own smile turned up to 11 as the next reporter gets shown to her seat.

It's a note. And Breckin feels like he's in high school again when he dips his head, put the note between his thighs and carefully unfolds it. _'Shut the fuck up. I can't sell it if you're back there calling bullshit.'_ in Ryan's scruffy, rushed handwriting.

He grins wide and stupid, digs in his pocket for a pen and writes his reply. _'Pretty sure the only way that's happening is with your dick in my mouth.' _He folds it up again, smaller than before and hands it back to the PA with a smile and a thank you, lounges back in his seat with his feet kicked out in front of him and his hands up 'round the back of his neck.__

__There's no way he can miss the look on Ryan's face now. It's pointed right at Breckin and it's everything Breckin's missed these last couple of days; a wicked, downright dirty grin plastered all over his face and that's a promise if Breckin ever saw one, back to _Ryan_ and just from that look he knows this week's starting to look up already. And he's pretty sure no one really minds calling it an early night when Ryan cuts the interviews short and practically knocks his chair over in the rush to get out of the room._ _

__They don't even make it back to their room, finding a supply closet instead and Breckin's on his knees with his face in Ryan's belly, one hand on Ryan's belt and the other shoved down the front of his own pants before they've really even gotten the door shut behind them._ _

__It's better after that, and if you ask anyone, no one will be able to tell you why, Breckin likes to think it's the spectacular supply closet blow job, but Ryan just calls him an ass and kisses him stupid anyway. But still, all of them start making the most of a couple weeks in New York on the studio, some of what they had before coming back the more they get into it and the movie might be not as good as they thought it was gonna be, but they all get to call it what it is and that's something, he guesses. There's a routine of sorts and they all fall into it, get done what they need to, make the most of what they've got 'cause they're professionals damn it and it's what they do. Get it all into perspective, realize it could be worse and it's a fucking job after all._ _

__Breckin's got a few more scenes this time around, a whole new Greg sub-plot shoehorned in to make up for what the studio took out, Ryan getting his own on location with Neve. Greg gets to be a drug dealer and Shane gets to be less gay. Oh yeah, it's going to be _awesome_. And okay so he's still maybe a tiny bit pissed at how he thinks it's all gonna turn out, how he's not sure he even wants to _know_ how it turns out and whether or not he's gonna have to put on his _'oh yeah, I really like it'_ face when he inevitably goes to find out how it all turns out. There's a little part of him that might be masochist where shit like that's concerned. He grew up in the 'system', knows you get one maybe two shots at something so good it'll make the hairs stand up on the back of your neck just reading the script. The rest of the time, you take what you can get cast for, get excited for maybe half of those and the rest pay the rent. It's cynical, mostly bullshit, but it's what he signed up for so it's what he'll do._ _

__He kisses Salma on the cheek when they're done for the day and she blows a raspberry on his cheek and grabs him to plant one on his lips, dipping him down and back like some tango move and he's on his ass before he can stop himself and then she's calling him a pussy and kicking his ass. He truly loves that woman._ _

__"Drinks before you head home okay?" as she walks off, hand in the air in a wave and her hips swaying. "You're buying!"_ _

__Breckin waves from the floor, watches her go, his head tipped to one side and a stupid grin on his face. He's gonna miss her. He stays there a while, watching the set guys move shit around; scenery, lighting rigs and mic booms, tape on the floor getting scraped off only to get re-done somewhere else and he'll miss this too, always does, wishes he'd remembered the Polaroid camera he takes candids with normally but left at home this time, just so he doesn't forget. It's stupid and sappy, but this movie's always going to mean something and there's not any part of it he ever wants to forget._ _

__Ryan finds him still there, on the floor when he gets back from location, the ridiculously thick coat he headed out in draped over his arm and his face still orange from make up. "Hey." As he reaches down to give Breckin a hand up. He doesn't ask what's going on, why Breckin's on the floor picking at mark tape._ _

__"Hey. You done?" Breckin brushes at his ass with one hand as he stands up, still holding onto Ryan's with the other, his thumb brushing over Ryan's knuckles._ _

__"Got one more. Should be a couple hours, tops." And Breckin's kissing him without thinking about it. They might not know these guys, it's not Toronto, but neither of them care much about that._ _

__"'kay. Come find me when you're done?" Another quick kiss and a slap on Ryan's ass and then he's heading off in the direction of their trailer, ass a perfect mirror of Salma's from before and Ryan's following him off set._ _

__He takes a long shower, scrubs the makeup off his face and the glue out of his hair, stands under the spray for long enough to make his skin sting and his fingers wrinkle. He's bone deep tired, almost asleep on his feet when he gets out, towel round his waist and hair dripping colder-by-the-second water on his shoulders. He rolls them out, unwraps the towel and scrubs it through his hair and over his shoulders and then over the mirror before he lets it drop to the floor. He'll pick it up later, when he does his quick sweep 'round to clean up before the guys that come to clean up get there - he can't help it if his mama raised him right._ _

__He fucks about with his hair a little, decides he really doesn't give a shit what it looks like and fiddles with it some more before he's laughing at himself and pulling a stupid face in the mirror. He looks as tired as he feels, this past week nothing like he expected it to be and he'll be glad when it's over if he's being honest with himself. Of course he'll miss having Ryan right there instead of an hour in traffic away, miss waking up to hair in his face, a leg jammed up between his and a hand 'round his dick that's not his own. But he's ready to go home now, to be done with this sour sinking feeling and that stupid fucking hairpiece._ _

__He's still leaning on the edge of the sink when he hears the trailer door slam open and closed again, hears Ryan call "Hi Honey, I'm home!" and snort to himself before rooting through the fridge. Is still standing there when Ryan comes into the tiny bathroom with a beer in each hand and a bag of chips between his teeth._ _

__"I bought dinner." Talking around the bag and knocking the bottle against Breckin's arm._ _

__"You okay?" Ryan lets the bag fall then, catching it in the crook of his elbow._ _

__"Yeah - just - I dunno man." And he doesn't, not really, he's not being deliberately vague or anything, he just doesn't._ _

__"Okay." And it really is as simple as that, Ryan just lets it go, just like always, and, just like always, when Breckin figures it out, or figures out just how to _say_ what _it_ is, Ryan will be next one to know. Breckin pulls himself up, goes to grab one of the beers and turns when Ryan's hand's on his chest and he's shaking his head._ _

__"Stay there?" And Breckin finds himself nodding, that little thrill of _something_ making his skin goose up and his breath catch. "Back in a second." And Ryan's gone before Breckin can answer him._ _

__It seems like an age before Ryan comes back and Breckin's been staring at himself for long enough to get bored with it, to find the weird bits about his face you only see when you really stare, one second liking them and the next deciding that they really are fucking weird and maybe aliens were involved in your conception. He's just getting done reminding himself to ask his Mom about that the next time she calls when Ryan comes back in through the too-narrow door, a little packet of lube between two fingers and that wide grin he gets that can only mean mischief and quite possibly mayhem too._ _

__And then he's all up against Breckin's back, his face buried in the back of Breckin's neck and his hands all over Breckin's chest. "Gonna fuck you, like this, wanna watch, want you to see what you look like when you lose it, when I'm all up inside you and you can't feel anything but me."_ _

__Ryan drops the lube packet in the sink in front of Breckin before he steps back just a little, his hands skating across Breckin's ribs and down his back to rest on his hips with a squeeze._ _

__"But first," and Ryan pauses, holds Breckin's eyes in the mirror, head tipped to one side like he's thinking, like there's something he could ask or tell Breckin after everything they've done, that Breckin'd have any kind of problem with. Except for goats, he's got to draw the line somewhere. "Want you to get ready for me, want to see it."_ _

__Breckin swallows hard, his fingers gripping the little plastic sink he hasn't let go of since Ryan told him not to move, 'til the tips go white and he can hardly feel them and not just cause his legs feel like they're ready to go out from under him and they haven't even fucking started anything yet. And he refuses to close his eyes even though he really wants to, doesn't want to see the blush he can feel crawling up from the middle of his chest, or see how the idea of Ryan watching him makes him hot all over and embarrassed as hell all at once. But he keeps them open and looking right back at Ryan, some kind of defiant _'fuck you'_ , or something, he has no idea. _ _

__Ryan's thumbs rub warm circles over Breckin's hips and he's back up close again; chin resting on Breckin's shoulder and his chest pressed to Breckin's back. And he's not taken his eyes off Breckin this whole time. "Want you to get yourself so fucking hot you can't wait." Ryan's hands ghost down so fucking slow, fingertips a tease over the crease of Breckin's thigh and back up again. "Gonna make you wait, 'til you're fucking begging me to fuck you." And Ryan's backing off and Breckin's practically sagging back against him, breath whooshing out and his head swimming and as much as Breckin kicks Ryan's ass about the bad porn dialog, he kinda really, really fucking likes what it does to him. And Ryan knows it._ _

__"Yeah - fuck, yeah okay." He chances letting go the sink to grab the packet of lube, tearing into it with his teeth and making a mess of his fingers cause he's shaking again. He glances up to see Ryan in the mirror, leaning against the wall next to the tiny shower stall you can just about get two guys in, and they know all about that. He's looking right at Breckin, bottom lip between his teeth, just waiting and it's kinda hard, pun totally intended, to move now. Sure he said 'yeah okay', but then there's the actual _doing_. But then again he's never been able to refuse Ryan a damn thing and it's that that gets him moving, gets him reaching behind himself._ _

__"Oh _fuck_ " And it's barely more than a whisper, but Breckin hears it anyway, makes his skin hot and his face flush._ _

__That first touch makes him jump a little, makes him suck in a breath and close his eyes, head resting on the mirror in front of him. And then there's a hand on his hip and another on his wrist and he opens his eyes, lifts his head and there's Ryan, right there and Breckin blinks, takes a shaking breath and - " _Jesus_." It's kinda too much, Ryan's fingers pressed tight into his hip, Ryan's eyes on his in the mirror, too close in here, too fucking quiet. But it's fucking _good_ and he loses himself in it, hips rocking back, palm flat on his ass as he rides his fingers. _ _

__"Can't - shit B - was gonna -" Ryan's palm to the back of Breckin's hand, his fingers covering Breckin's and then there's _more_ \- "Wanted to - can't make you wait - fuck -" He's not making much sense but Breckin gets it anyway, both of them really kinda suck at waiting. _ _

__Breckin's knees give out a little as he goes for more still, teeth sharp in his lip and his breath fogging the mirror and one day they're gonna do this some place comfortable, 'cause on the list of new and interesting kinks Ryan gets Breckin realising he has, this one's way up there. He's hot all over, balls to eyebrows, like Ryan's got his hands everywhere at once, like there's nothing else but _Ryan_ and it's not like that's anything new but still. _ _

__"Wish you could see -" Ryan's mouth on the back of his neck, too hot breath, the sharp sting of his teeth making his skin goose and his breath catch useless in his chest. And Breckin's turned inside out, laid bare and coming up on desperate and all he can do is huff out a moan and grind himself back, take all that he can and still want more._ _

__He's pretty sure - no scratch that - he _is_ sure he's gonna lose it like this if they don't stop and he gave up giving a shit about that right about the time Ryan started biting on his neck. He's got to work on the 'being obvious with his tells' thing. Or maybe not. His head _thunks_ against the mirror, eyes closed now, free hand back to dig his fingers in Ryan's thigh as Ryan pushes them both deeper, twists their wrists and presses their fingers up and holyfuckingshit that is _it_ \- _ _

__The noise he makes is nothing short of a scream and the tiny part of him that's still with it right then knows there'll be score cards or some shit from the crew later. The rest of him on the other hand could care less and is mostly jelly spread on wet noodles. And sliding to the floor fast._ _

__"Whoa, hold on there -" And then Ryan's got his arm wrapped 'round Breckin's chest, hand in the crook of his armpit as he slips their fingers free and he's fucking smiling into Breckin's shoulder. Of course he is. "You okay there buddy?"_ _

__"Fuck off." Breckin's slipping again, pretty much dead weight right now, his knees going out from under him even as he's leaning back. His fingers are numb and he can't feel his toes and sex standing up is never a good idea with him but he doesn't care 'cause he feels fucking _awesome_._ _

__"I got you." And Breckin's vaguely aware of Ryan moving behind him, the heavy weight of him at his back shifting, Ryan's hands on his arms smoothing down to his wrists to cover the backs of Breckin's hands with his own, the pressure there an unspoken _'don't move'_ as if Breckin could move right now. He dips his head again, rests his weight on his arms and just breathes for a second before lifting up again to look at the both of them in the mirror. Breckin looks totally wasted, sweat sticking his hair up all over, cheeks flushed red and his pupils blown dark, like he's just got fucked and Ryan - _Jesus_ he's just staring right back at Breckin, want so fucking clear right there in that look there'd be no way Breckin would ever not want him right back, give him everything he wants and come back for more._ _

__Breckin smiles and nods, chances falling on his ass to press his legs wider, knees resting on the cabinet in front of him, ass up and back and an invitation if Ryan ever fucking needed one._ _

__"Come on," his voice cracked and his breath shaky and there's another quick swipe of too-cold lube and then Ryan's _there_ and inside, slow and all at once, covering him and taking him and everything and he's slipping, knees going out from under him again, but he's not looking away, can't move, eyes holding Ryan's in the mirror and breath knocked out of him._ _

__"I got you." Like Breckin needs to hear it again when he's been sure of that since they first met and then Ryan's got his arm around Breckin's chest again and he's hauling Breckin up like it's no effort at all and pushing him too far and taking too much and if Breckin had any more to give he'd hand it over with a huge fucking smile and go looking for more still._ _

__A minute ago he would've sworn blind he couldn't get hard again, but his body ain’t listening when Ryan gets his other hand between Breckin and the sink, fist hard and wrist twisting just right. He lets out another too loud moan, head dipping low for a second when he can't hold it up and Breckin's gonna have bruises on his hips from the edge of the sink and he can't feel his fingers and it doesn't matter cause Ryan's taking him apart little piece by little piece._ _

__"So fucking -" He knows Ryan's close, no way he can catch up but he doesn't care, grinds back, pushes up and back on shaking arms, gets them so there's nothing between them and he can turn his head, lips mashed to Ryan's in a messy kiss that's more teeth than anything else. And they look obscene in the best possible way, sweat and heat and so much fucking want right there for both of them to see and Ryan's hand stills, his hips stutter and it's all Breckin can do not to fall forward again when all of Ryan's weight rests on his back and he just fucking goes for it. Ryan tears his mouth away from Breckin's, his head falling on Breckin's shoulder, breath hot on Breckin's skin as he freezes, grip too tight and then Breckin can _feel_ it, knows the second Ryan's done for and despite everything he can't help but smile.  
"Holy _shit_ \- " And it's like Ryan's made of jello now. A whole fuck-ton of it, threatening to have the both of them on the floor._ _

__"Yeah." As Breckin unlocks his elbows and gets them both kinda laid out over the sink. He can't breathe much and Ryan's still got his hand on Breckin's dick and no one in their right mind would ever call this comfortable. But it'll do._ _

__"I have the best fucking ideas I swear - " Ryan sounds drunk, slurred words on a too-thick tongue and Breckin just wants to kiss him, call him a smug asshole and maybe think about finding somewhere comfy to take five, or maybe an hour or two if he's honest._ _

__Except that Ryan's pushing himself back and out and - fuck - dropping to his knees behind Breckin, his mouth leaving a hot path down Breckin's spine, teeth sharp on his skin and then he's full again and getting turned around and _jesusfuckingchrist_ Ryan's mouth's on his dick and his fingers are - okay so his fingers are fucking _amazing_ and he wasn't going to come again, no fucking way, but there's no stopping it. It just hits him like a punch, like he wasn't expecting it, like he's never gonna have anything like it again._ _

__Ryan pulls back just as Breckin loses it, dirty low groan echoing off the tile as he looks right up, face a mess, eyelashes wet and there's no way Breckin can't let go his death grip on the sink and drag his fingers through that mess, push his thumb past Ryan's stupidly impossible lips to catch on his teeth. And Breckin's got about half a second before his brain catches up to the fact that he just came his brains out _again_ before it dumps him on his ass, doesn't think on it, just lets himself slide down the cabinet, gets his knees either side of Ryan's thighs and his hands in Ryan's hair to pull his head back, kisses the taste of himself out of Ryan's mouth and then does it some more 'til neither of them can breathe._ _

__"You - are fucking awesome." He knows he's gonna get shit for that later and doesn't care when Ryan just smiles that fucked out, blinding smile of his and kisses him some more._ _

__"And your heavy ass is cutting off my circulation."_ _

__Breckin's knees creak when they get themselves untangled, his thighs cramping as he stands up and they should grab a shower before they head out, but the cubicle in here is tiny and he's got ideas about Ryan and soap and miles of wet skin, so he wets a wash cloth, drags it rough over the pair of them in between getting distracted enough to get kinda horny again._ _

__Ryan's gonna be the absolute death of him he's sure of it._ _

__~~~~~~_ _

__It's kinda fitting that the _new_ last scene of the movie is the last one they shoot. The wrap party right after and it's still not making a lick of sense, any of it, if the dailies are anything to go by, but Mark goes at it with as much enthusiasm as he had before and Breckin can't help but catch onto that, hold onto it as he fakes a dance in the middle of a too quiet dance floor, Salma holding onto him and trying her hardest to make him corpse. She doesn't have to try that hard. No one cares that that scene takes more takes than it should, that Ryan's going back and forth between his marks like a monkey on crack or that the extra behind Breckin keeps fucking up his blocking, or that a simple _Greg looks over the dance floor to see Shane_ becomes _ Greg climbs Shane like a tree and humps his leg_. It's their last day again and just like last time, everyone knows it's never gonna end on time.

And come the end of it, when the last cut has been called and they're saying their goodbyes and making promises to stay in touch, Mark hands over Breckin's hairpiece, sprayed solid with industrial strength hairspray and covered in gold glitter.

 

End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Vic, who went above and beyond.


End file.
